Catch a Shooting Star jd edit 03 12 2012 html (29 page)

After hours of monotonously plodding along, Savannah finally snuck a glance at Travis, who seemed to doze on the back of his Palomino.  With his head against his chest and his hands resting on the stallion’s withers, he looked vulnerable and approachable.  But, she dared not wake him, for fear that he might shout at her the way he had before.  So, she let him continue sleeping as she stared at him in a way that she had only occasionally allowed herself to indulge in. 

His ample lips, which had branded hers with that insistent kiss, now parted minutely as his breathing escaped from them.  The arms that had bound her were slack and sluggish while his elbows dipped and stretched ever so slightly in a rhythm that mirrored the gait of the stallion.  Those long, lanky legs that bounced against the horse’s sides in a drowsy dance were the same legs that had closed the distance between them with very little effort in order to clamp his lips to hers.

Remembering that kiss, that feeling of his body constricting hers into submission, recalling that yearning that she knew that she could not—would not—allow him to know that he had won the battle that raged within her, she tried desperately to suppress that growing desire to have him repeat the daring deed that had been and would be her ultimate undoing.  It angered her even more that she had let her body overpower her determination to keep her vows to her husband sacred.  But what perturbed her most was that with the slightest look, the tiniest touch from him, she feared that she would break her resolve and she would be his to do with whatever he wanted.

Her only saving grace was that, in a few days, they would be in the village that harbored Casa de Flores and their journey would end with the death of her husband and the return of her son to her would be eminent.  This feat would take every bit of her energy to perform, leaving little room for thoughts and dreams of a relationship with Travis.  And, when the job was done, there would be no need for the former Texas Ranger.  She was more than confident that she could make the trip back home alone.

They rode until early afternoon when Travis jerked into motion, awaking from his slumber on his stallion’s back.  He pulled back on the reins and looked around as if disturbed by a riotous noise and as awareness took over, he blinked languidly and then nudged Blazer into motion again, saying as if to himself, “We’ll stop the next time we find water and have a bite to eat.”

Savannah only nodded the acknowledgement, for she knew that if she said anything, she would have to stifle a giggle that welled up in her throat at the comical appearance that he presented.  As it was, she had to press her fingertips to her lips to suppress any smile that would have showed itself when he looked her way for an answer.

In less than an hour, they had found a patch of grass that indicated an underground stream and they dismounted and dug a hole for the horses to drink from.  Savannah found a secluded place to relieve herself and then returned to find Travis rummaging through the saddlebag.  She wondered what he would find to eat, for their food was running low, but she really did not care what she put into her belly as long as it was nourishing.

She leaned against the boulder behind her and yawned, stretching her arms above her head.  Just as she had touched the sky with her fingertips, she heard that familiar rattle that reminded her of the maracas in a mariachi band.  Her heart stopped and her breath ceased its passage through her lungs.  She would have panicked had Travis not caught her eye and motioned for her to freeze. 

She heard him hissing to her in excited panic, “Don’t move a muscle!”

Still frozen in her position of reaching for the sky, she dared not disobey him.  She held her breath and kept her eyes fixed on Travis, who was very slowly pulling the rifle from the saddle.  The rattle snake continued its warning clatter while she stood just six inches from its face and silently begged her knees not to buckle in her fright.  When she saw that Travis had placed the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and pulled back the trigger, she closed her eyes.  Even though she knew that he was an excellent shot, she still worried that he could miss or that the snake would strike her before the bullet struck it.

The deafening explosion of the rifle shook the ground beneath her feet and gave her body permission to collapse in relief and weakness.  Before the blackness of oblivion took over, though, she was caught in strong arms that eased her to the ground and then held her to his body in an effort to quell the trembling that had assailed her. 

Travis trembled almost as much as she did as he held her next to him, hugging her and kissing her head and then her forehead, following the profile of her nose until their lips met in a searing, searching, healing kiss that both felt would remedy the violent shaking of their bodies.  Then, he pulled away, and thrusting her back into his arms, he let out a most painful groan of relief as he whispered huskily into her ear, “My God, Savannah.  I thought I lost you.”

He rocked her in his arms until they both calmed down and their hearts slowed their erratic beating.  Then, he pulled her just far enough away from his face to cup her cheeks in both of his palms and to stare into her velvety violet eyes as he breathed, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d have bitten you.”

Without worrying that she would reject his actions, he eased his face toward her and pressed his lips gently to hers, so gently that her heart fluttered with desire.  Without resistance, she returned the gesture with more fervency than he had expected and spurred by that furor, he wound his arms tightly around her and cupping her head with one hand, he thrust his delving tongue into her mouth.  A groan of protest--or was it a plea to continue?--escaped her hungry mouth as he left it to caress her neck with his exploring lips.

Just as suddenly as it had happened, the two reverted to reality and, in unison and together, they pulled away, turning from the other as if the sight of them was repulsive. Or was it an effort to resist the magnetism that their bodies must have exuded at that very moment?  Whatever the reason, they mumbled apologies and scrambled to their feet, creating distance between them as Savannah walked toward her horse and Travis inspected the snake’s limp body.

He carried it toward her.  In a rapid demonstration of jest, he raised it at Savannah’s face and asked, “Care to kiss him instead?” 

Jumping in surprise at the sudden sight of the snake, she held her fingers to her neck and drew in a breath before letting it out again.  Shifting the rifle aside with her fingers, she used the other hand to slap his shoulder playfully, forgiving him instantly for scaring her again and for his reminder that she had said that she ‘would rather kiss a snake than the likes of him’, she said just as jokingly, “I’m not in the mood.”

He chuckled, remembering their embrace and their driven kiss, he lifted the snake to eye level and said to the dead reptile, “Sorry, son.  Looks like she’s not attracted to you.  But, is she hungry enough to have you for lunch?”

Savannah narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her as she said, “That depends. Is he the only option?”

“Well,” Travis said with a shrug of his shoulders.  “It’s either snake steak or cactus cakes.  About all we have left is a little bit of flour and some dried beans.”

“Snake sounds delectable,” she said with a smile of agreement.

While Travis cut up their lunch, Savannah gathered wood for a fire. Then, they ate the terrifying reptile while laughing at the commotion that it had caused, yet neither of them mentioned the aftermath of that experience: the discovery that both of them felt the need to cling to the other and the growing emotions that lingered just below the surface, untapped until that very moment when dread met desire, and were somehow, one and the same.

They remounted and continued their journey until the stars illuminated the sky and the waning moon winked behind distant mountain ridges.  After securing a site for their camp, Travis built a blazing fire against the cold that he knew would come.  Savannah unfolded her blanket and then emptied the contents of the side of the saddlebag that held their food stores.  With the rabbit that Travis had shot earlier and the flour, they could make a nice meal.  But tomorrow they would have to stop earlier in order to soak the dry beans for a soup.

The meal was consumed without conversation, for both of them were deep in thought about the day’s events.  Reliving it in their minds, they dared not reveal to the other, the feelings that those thoughts provoked in them.  And, while Savannah cleaned the dishes, Travis rubbed a clean cloth over the barrel of his rifle.  With the dishes cleaned and put away, she drew a small pan of the precious water and heated it slightly on the coals of the fire.  She took the water to her pallet and knelt beneath the privacy of the blanket and took a much-needed bath. 

She emerged from the blanket and hurried to the fire to warm her damp skin.  The night air feathered over the droplets that clung to her body, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.  As she huddled near the fire, caught up in her own thoughts, she stared into the flames that licked at the cold night air.  When the glow of the fire fell upon Travis, who had moved closer to the light, Savannah darted a glance at him.

He was holding a mirror to his back, his shirt wadded to the opposite side of his body while he dug at his skin with a wide, glistening knife.  She gasped, worried that he would stab himself as he hurried to his side and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Ease up, woman,” he said, shifting the knife so that she could not take it from him as she tried to do just that.  “I’m not gonna kill myself.  I just have a thorn or something back there that I can’t seem to get at.”

“Let me see,” she offered as she leaned closer to him and urged him to turn his back toward the light.  She pinched the patch of skin between her fingers and examined the swollen mark on his back.  “Looks like a thorn all right.”

She took the knife from him and held the blade between her forefinger and thumb as she held it next to the thorn, then she paused to ask, “Did you sterilize it first?”

“Yep,” he said with a nod.  “Just get it out.  It feels like it’s on fire!”

“It must.  It’s swollen and feverish,” she noted as she picked at the protruding end of the thorn.

“Don’t slit my throat,” he joked nervously.

“Don’t worry,” she said as she eased the blade into his skin.  “I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do that.”

“How could you?  I sleep with one eye open and the other watching for predators,” he argued while wincing against the pain of the knife poking into the fiery mound of flesh on his back.

“Watching through your eyelids?” she asked, leaning around to see his reaction to her question.  “You even sleep while you’re riding.  Some protector you are.”

“Who killed that rattler for you?”

“You were wide awake when that snake made its appearance,” she reminded him, then continued to poke at his back. “Now hold still while I do this or the knife could slip and we’ll have a bigger problem to fix.”

Travis settled himself in a position that brought enough firelight for her to work and as she did so, he felt the softness of her touch.  He saw the care and concern that showed on her smooth brow and the concentration that glowed in her sparkling violet eyes. 

He felt the warmth of her body as it traveled the small distance between them, sending flashes of heat though his body and an uncontrollable shiver enveloped him.

“Hold still,” she scolded gently.  “I’m almost finished.”

An instant after he had squared his shoulders and relaxed his muscles, she raised her head and announced triumphantly, “I got it!”

Travis touched his wound with his opposing hand and marveled, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good,” she said as she handed the butt end of the knife back to him.  “You should be good as new by morning.”

“You know a lot about doctoring,” he said as she scooted away from him but still sat on the rock next to him.

“Yes.  When my father was sick, before he died, I took care of him.  The doctor came to check him but there was really nothing he could do.  He showed me what I needed to do to make him comfortable and left me to do it.”

“It must have been very painful to watch him die,” he mused, thinking of how Melody had died.  “I guess I was lucky in a way.  I didn’t have to see my wife suffer…”

“That doesn’t make it any less painful,” Savannah said in an apologetic tone.

“Nope.  It just eats away at me that I wasn't there to save her,” Travis admitted, his voice trembling.

Savannah searched his face.  It was a face that reflected the pain that he must have been feeling years ago and what must be assailing him now as the memories came rushing back.  His brows furrowed above misty brown eyes as he stared into the fire with his private misery.  She placed a hand softly on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly and was rewarded with a vague smile and a melancholy sigh before he stood up and sauntered past the fire to the edge of the light and fixed his eyes on the blackness beyond.

Savannah was in awe of the tenderness and sensitivity that this man who could be so hard and cold to her and she wondered why she sometimes brought that out of him.  She wondered if it was because her husband had murdered his wife or if it was just because she grated on his nerves that he treated her with such contempt.  But then, at other times, he could not keep his hands—or his lips—off her.  The reason for that also eluded her. 

The only way for her to find out was to ask him.  He certainly was not going to volunteer any information or rationale for his actions toward her.  That determined, she walked to his side and stood next to him.  Her violet eyes showed black in the night as she studied his hardened face and asked, “Do you hate me?”