Charlene Sands (2 page)

She had dreams of her own.

The second the rain had simmered some, she lifted her head again and asked the question that had been plaguing her as they trekked north of River Junction. “Why are you helping me, Mr. Bodine?”

“Name’s Bodine. There’s no mister involved.”

This time he didn’t shove her head back down, but stared into her eyes for a long moment as if trying to puzzle something out. She stared back, the best she could from her position on the saddle. They were almost nose-to-nose, her head angled up and she felt him, his commanding presence and his impatience, all of it in their locked gazes. “Are you going to tell me?”

He grunted something about her talking too much and turned away to glance out at the land before them.

Emma, too, turned to look at the darkened road ahead as a layer of fog rolled in, the night as dismal and gray clouded as her disposition. Within minutes, exhaustion sapped what was left of her energy. She slumped back in the saddle and was cushioned by a chest of stone and two arms that refused to let her fall.

Soon, her eyes drifted closed.

Emma woke slowly, feeling cocooned in a shield of warmth. She looked up, still hazy from sleep and for just one moment she forgot where she was and with whom. But the man named Bodine had a presence about him and as he cradled her in his arms, carrying her through the darkness, Emma recalled the night and her fight with Red Hurley, then being whisked away by this stranger.

The rain had stopped. The night was eerily still. Carefully, Bodine set her down, her clothes damp, her hair sticking to her face. She wobbled on her feet, then righted herself, sticking her fingers through the mop of long tangled hair on her head. Once the strands were fully out of her eyes, she had a better view of her surroundings, a small clearing surrounded by shrubs and trees.

Shelter.

Bodine had already left her. He tethered his horse to a tree branch then set about finding wood to make a fire. Out of the comfort of his arms, she felt cold to the bone. Her shiver caught his eye.

“We’ll have a small fire. Not enough to attract attention, but enough to keep warm.”

“Do you think anyone is after us?”

Crouched down, setting small branches and brush ablaze, he nodded. “Probably.”

Another tremble shook her, this time from fear. “They’d come all this way?”

She’d hoped not. They’d traveled for hours in the pouring rain trudging through earth that had turned muddy. The roads were harsh and the night carried the cold bite of winter.

Bodine rose and eyed her carefully. As he approached there was menace in his gaze. He unbuttoned her coat, glanced at her bosom. “They’ll come…for this,” he said, slipping his hand into the bodice of her dress, his cool moist fingers brushing the round of her breast.

The sensation startled her, having a man’s hand on her that way and she pulled back from him, wondering at the rapid heat his brush on her skin had caused. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He pulled the bills from her dress, flashing them before her eyes. “You stole two hundred, if a cent.”

“I…I only t-took what he owed me.”

“If you’d laid with him for a month, he wouldn’t owe you this much,” he snapped.

Emma gasped, her hand coming across his face fast.

Fierceness entered his eyes, and his hand lifted. For a moment Emma thought he’d retaliate and strike her back, but he laid his palm on his whiskered cheek, rubbing at the place where she’d slapped him. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?”

“You insulted me.”

“I meant to. Only a fool would steal from a man like Hurley. You should have walked outta that saloon and kept on walking.” He shoved the cash in his saddlebag.

“But, he owed me my wages and a chance—”

His gray-blue eyes lit with curiosity, making them appear almost silver in the soft light. “What kind of chance?”

“Never mind,” she said, refusing to explain her plans, hopes and dreams to this stranger. Instead, she folded her arms and walked close to the fire. A small heat wafted up, barely enough to penetrate her thick coat. “It isn’t fair,” she whispered.

Bodine stood by her side, watching the flames. “Life isn’t fair.”

They remained there for a few moments, watching the fire, each deep in thought. Emma hadn’t even thanked him, though she wasn’t sure he was deserving of any gratitude just yet. “You don’t even know my name,” she said quietly.

He stood silent.

“It’s Emma Marie.”

“You don’t seem the type to work in a saloon,” he stated.

“Mr. Hurley said as much,” she replied, reminded of the cutting remark he’d made about her person. True, she wasn’t the kind of girl that garnered a man’s attention.

“I wouldn’t bank on anything Hurley had to say.”

She lifted her head up. “Do you know him?”

He kept his gaze fastened on the burning embers, squinting away smoke that billowed up from the slight wind shift. “I’ve had some dealings with him.”

“Are you an outlaw?”

From his profile, she could see half his smile. “Some might think so. Truth is, I track them down.”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

He nodded.

“And you track outlaws?”

He nodded again.

She wondered if she should ask. She wondered if he knew anything about her father and, if he did, would he tell her? “Have you ever heard of Jake Trundy?”

Bodine turned to face her, his silvery eyes narrowing to slits. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

Emma bit down hard on her lip. She debated sharing anything about her personal life with him. She didn’t want this man knowing her full name. She didn’t want him associating the girl working in the Silver Lady Saloon with the Rourkes in Fresno. But he might know something about her father’s whereabouts. “I’m looking for him. He’s…my father. I only just found out about him, that he’s alive, I mean.”

Bodine turned away from her then and peered again into the dying flames. “Maybe you should forget about him.”

“That’s what my Gram said. My family told me my father died before I was born. I guess they were trying to protect me. But I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist. I need to find him. See him. See what kind of man he is.”

“Seems evident what kind of man he is.”

“You say that like you’ve known him.”

“Years ago, I knew of a Trundy. Robbed banks and trains. Last I heard he was in prison.”

Emma’s shoulders slumped. She’d hoped Bodine might know more than she did. “That’s all I know. That he spent time in prison. But he was due to get out a few years ago.”

“Maybe he left California.”

“I don’t think so,” Emma said, recalling the last words he’d written in the letters she’d found hidden in her Gram’s trunk just weeks ago. She’d found them while searching for her late mother’s embroidered shawl. When confronted, her grandmother had said she’d saved those letters to give to her once she was married and settled. Emma believed her, certain her Gram would have burned them otherwise. Still Emma had been terribly hurt by the lies and betrayal. “In the last letter he sent he said he’d head up toward San Francisco when he was released.”

“How long ago was that?”

“The last post was dated June 1877, five years ago.”

Emma couldn’t keep the wistful tone from her voice. She’d scoured those letters over and over, and not once had he asked about her, wondered about the daughter he’d never seen. But each letter had always asked for her mother’s forgiveness for abandoning her, for not being a better man. Her Gram had said her mother Elena had never written him back. Emma figured her mother’s heartbreak had turned to anger and resentment. She’d had several broken engagements after that time, then decided to dedicate her life to her family. Elena Rourke had been a wonderful mother, kind and loving, and they’d shared so many happy times, but every now and then Emma recalled seeing a distant, pained look in her eyes.

“Five years is a long time.” Bodine crouched once again and put a few more small branches onto the fire. “That’ll do for the night.”

And as she watched the firelight, Bodine laid out his gray woolen blanket nearby. “We’ve got a few hours before sunup. Might as well get some sleep.”

Emma looked at the sole blanket on the ground, then up into his eyes. She was at his mercy and had yet to find out much about him. Instead, she’d practically told him her entire life history. She hesitated, refusing to move.

Judging by the quirk of his lips, he seemed to find her discomfort amusing. Emma hadn’t forgotten how his fingers had touched her breast just moments ago. Or how that slight contact had instantly warmed her body.

“Sleep. I won’t harm you, Emmy.”

She drew in a deep breath, wondering if she could trust him. “It’s Emma Marie.”

“Come to bed, Emmy,” he said as if she hadn’t just corrected him. “You need rest. If you’re lagging behind tomorrow, I might just have to leave you here.”

Emma moved slowly, watching him pat the area designated for her body to lie, right next to his. “You’ll freeze,” he warned, guessing at her thought to sleep away from him on the cold, hard ground. Then he slanted his hat further down on his head and stretched out. He covered himself with half the blanket, gripping his gun in hand, and closed his eyes.

Wind kicked up, blowing frigid air into her face. It was enough to get her feet moving faster to the inviting blanket. She lay down and turned away from him.

He wrapped her up in the remainder of the blanket and brought his body up close. Instant warmth enveloped her. Her heart pounded from the intimate position, yet Bodine seemed fully unaffected.

“Emmy?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

“Don’t ever try that again. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”

She was sure he meant the slap to his face. She doubted if anyone got the better of Bodine.

“Next time, don’t insult me,” she whispered back.

“Next time,”
he said, his breath rushing out to tease the tips of her earlobes as he refused to be bested, “you’ll get the full Bodine treatment and, trust me, you won’t like it.”

But there was a smile in his voice, along with that threat, and Emma didn’t quite know what to make of him.

E
mma lay awake for long minutes, the soft sound of Bodine’s easy breathing somehow comforting. Still damp from the rain shower, and wrapped up in her woolen coat, she told herself she should be terrified. But Emma didn’t feel frightened at the moment. No, a more soothing sensation swept over her as she lay cosseted in the shelter of Bodine’s strong arms. His body pressed against her back and his arm draped over her side, resting loosely against her chest.

His size alone should worry her. She was sheathed in his heat, her small frame hardly a match for him should he decide to take his advantage. But, oddly, she trusted him.

And she didn’t know exactly why. She’d been duped by her family all of her life and Emma had little use for placing faith in people anymore. But with him, this man who had seemingly rescued her, she felt protected and safe.

Again, she questioned the why of it. But Emma hadn’t had any options open to her. She’d gotten herself in trouble in the worst possible of ways, and she now slept beside a man who had whisked her away from jail time, if not worse.

A cold wind bit the air and Emma wiggled down further in the blanket, taking what comfort she could and accidentally bumping against Bodine, her backside touching his male parts. She heard him grunt from the depths of his slumber and froze, refusing more movement for fear of waking him.

“Hold still, Emmy,” he warned, his voice a deep rasp of a whisper. “Don’t move on me like that.”

“Oh,” she whispered back, realizing she had woken him, if he’d been sleeping at all. She turned around quickly, an apology on her lips.

It was a mistake to move, to turn, to look into Bodine’s narrowed, sleep-hazy eyes. To witness the shadows of his face, sharp, sculptured and strong. Emma’s heart raced just from looking at him so close up.

She’d seen Grant this close up hundreds of times, while hunkered down playing marbles on the polished plank floors at the Rourke estate, and later in life while dancing during the Fresno Annual Founder’s Day picnics, and once, when Grant had kissed her, during a long walk along the stream that bordered their family homes.

That kiss had sparked no desire, no yearning, no sensations and Grant had been disappointed. “You’ll come ’round, Emma Marie. You’ll see. We were meant for each other,” he’d said.

But Emma hadn’t been quite sure, then, a mere girl of sixteen. Now, a woman of nineteen, she’d come to realize she wasn’t ready to marry Grant or any man. She had a different path in mind. And after finding her father’s letters, she knew that path would take a wind-around before she’d find the straight road ahead.

“I’m sorry, Bodine. I didn’t mean to wake—”

A low rumble erupted from his throat. “Shh. Go to sleep.”

His eyes wide-open now, Emma looked her fill, and in the darkness she saw that spark of silver again, the deep shimmering glow that turned her stomach inside out. “I’m cold, trying to find comfort, is all,” she explained.

His gaze slid to her mouth as though her lips were warmed cherry cobbler ready to be gobbled up. “You want comfort? I can manage that, heat up both our bodies real good. Just keep wiggling on me like that and I’ll make you hotter than wildfire.”

Emma stared into his eyes, in wonder and awe. She believed Bodine could do that. She believed he had an innate way with women, could make them bend to his will. The thought intrigued her more than she liked, and burning tingles attacked her insides just from the notion and the look in his silvery eyes. But for all of Bodine’s declarations, she doubted she was any kind of temptation for him.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered softly.

“Dare me,” he said, knowing full well she would do no such thing. “And you’ll be sorry you did. Then again,” he added, soft as a summer breeze, “maybe you’d like it, Emmy.”

She turned her back on him again then, away from the comfort of his arms, relying solely on the heat of the blanket to see her through the night. “It’s Emma Marie,” she said before she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Bodine slept for a time, his slumber light, halfway between restful and alert. It was a matter of survival and he’d learned to sleep with one eye nearly open. As a child, running away from home with Josh to join the army meant sleepless nights more often than not. They’d taken turns, watching out for each other when closing in along Confederate lines. Two young boys, dressed in their army blues had found adventure during the Great War, but that notion had soon faded as fast as the western sunset. They’d seen fellow soldiers’ blood run red and deep, dozens of bodies lying wasted upon the earth, the destruction and pain they’d witnessed marking them for life. It hardened them, making them realize strength of body and fortitude of mind meant survival.

It wasn’t until Captain Miles Rourke had taken both in, making them his personal errand boys, sharing meals in his canvas tent, teaching them basic regimental rules of combat, telling stories of his homeland in Ireland, that Bodine actually got a full and restful night of sleep.

That had been a long time ago.

And now Josh was gone.

Bodine felt a slice of knifing guilt. Josh, his twin, had been innocent. He’d chosen to settle down with a woman, giving up his adventuresome life to father a child and raise a small herd of cattle. He’d wanted no more of the vagabond life. He’d given up bounty hunting with Bodine years ago, only to get shot on the streets of town in cold blood.

He would see to it that Rusty Metcalf paid for that killing. He wouldn’t let up until the murderer was pushing daisies. He’d be sure to avenge his brother’s death or die trying.

Bodine had bounty hunting in his blood. He’d never softened, hadn’t met a man, woman or child yet who could change him. And now he was stuck with this slip of a girl, who insisted on curling her petite body into his until his groin twitched through his buckskin pants.

It’d been a while since he’d been with a woman. His body cried out for relief, was all. Eloisa Rourke’s words flashed into his mind, the reminder always there, “Unharmed and
untouched.
”

He’d been commissioned to keep the girl safe. He took his responsibility to heart. He’d protect her. And he certainly wouldn’t have a notion to touch her. But he was fully male, long in need of a woman. No able-bodied man would be completely immune to a female curving her body into the hollow of his own, teasing him with soft, sweet-smelling hair and beguiling little sounds uttered from her blissful sleep.

Bodine let go a deep sigh, resigned to warming her lithe body, keeping her close by. He swung his arm up and around, tucking her safely in, while he willed the twitching in his pants to finally fall to defeat.

He dozed for a short time that way, but a menacing sound brought him from hazy to alert instantly. He lifted his head and listened, cocking his gun, his ears keen on noises off in the distance that came closer, and closer yet.

Bodine removed himself from the blanket carefully, watching for Emmy’s reaction. She slept. And he wanted her to keep on sleeping. He’d investigate the noises without waking her. She’d be safer here than with him. The last thing he needed was for whoever was out there to find their campsite. From his war days, Bodine had learned that surprise stacked the odds in the surpriser’s favor.

He left their small camp and headed toward the sound of hoofbeats.

Emma woke with a start. Something was amiss. She felt the gnawing truth of it deep down in her bones even before she realized that Bodine was no longer sleeping beside her.

She rose to a cloudy dawn, the bite in the air slightly lessened from last night’s by a reluctant sun struggling through gray skies. Surveying their little campsite, she was relieved to find Bodine’s horse still tethered to the tree branch. Yet, as she walked the slight perimeter, there was no sign of him anywhere. “Bodine?” She moved past Lola and away from the thicket of shrubs surrounding her. “Bodine,” she called again, her attention darting around full circle, hoping to find him.

Then she heard the sounds of dismay. Scuffling sounds, voices low and menacing, one of the baritones sounding distinctly like Bodine’s. She headed toward the ruckus, hugging her coat to her chest, fearful of what she might find as the clouded light helped guide her. And not fifty yards from where she’d slept, she found Bodine, fending off two men of near equal breadth and strength.

Emma hid behind a tall leaning spruce, holding back her alarm with a hand to her mouth. Bodine fought both men, his fists bloodied, his face enraged as the taller man attempted to pin his arms, while the broader one with beefy hands tried to pummel him. But Bodine slipped from the man’s grip, punched him in the gut and went after the other, his steps calculated and efficient.

Fists flew fast and furiously. The man grunted and growled at Bodine, but he kept on him like a predator stalking prey. A knife appeared and Emma’s heart raced with dread. The taller man lurched toward Bodine, the knife angled toward his heart, but Bodine jumped out of the way just in time.

Emma knew he was in trouble now. Without a knife of his own, the two men would surely wear Bodine down and he’d be killed.

She prayed for guidance and her silent plea was answered quickly when she spied Bodine’s revolver lying in the underbrush, barely visible. It must have been knocked from his hand somehow, because Emma believed he’d never have relinquished his weapon otherwise.

She knew she had to take this chance. There was no backing down. Bodine was losing ground, the man with the knife having the better advantage. She’d already seen him swipe at Bodine’s arm, cutting through his thick coat. Emma prayed he hadn’t broken flesh with that slash. Without wasting another second, she raced toward the gun and grabbed it, before being noticed.

With shaky hands, she pointed the gun toward the assailants, but Bodine was too close. She knew little of guns or how to shoot them. Her aim might hit the wrong target, the man risking his life to protect her.

She pointed the gun skyward instead and pulled the trigger. The blast staggered her a moment and she nearly fell. But the shot also distracted all three men. They looked to her in surprise.

“You little bitch,” the beefy-handed man yelled, and it was enough of a distraction for Bodine to react. He wrangled the knife out of the tall man’s hand, while she trained the gun she had no idea how to shoot on the shorter, barrel of a man. “Hold still, or I’ll shoot.”

Bodine staggered back a moment. He’d been injured, the blood pouring out of his shoulder true testimony. But soon he regained some strength and came over to her. She relinquished the gun to his outstretched hand. “Shouldn’t have left the camp, Emmy,” he said with a stern tone, but there was a mark of admiration in his eyes she couldn’t miss.

He held the men at gunpoint with his right hand, while holding his shoulder with the other. Blood oozed from his fingers as color drained from his face.

“Get the rope from one of their horses. Tie them up. Hands and feet.” Then he sliced her a look. “Hurry.”

Emmy knew Bodine was short on strength. She worked fast, tying up the men who Bodine had instructed to sit on the ground. Then Bodine made her stuff kerchiefs into their mouths, knotting them at the back of their heads. “Are we leaving them here?” she asked, once all was done.

Bodine nodded.

Emma glanced at the two, bloodied equally by Bodine. Both peered up at her with angry eyes. “They’ll freeze.”

“I hope so.”

Emma watched as Bodine slapped their horses on the backsides and the mares took off running.

She bit her lip then pleaded with Bodine, “We can’t just leave them here to—”

“The horses will head back to town. Someone will come looking for them. By then, we’ll be long gone,” he huffed out weakly. “Unless you want to stick around for more of Hurley’s men to catch up to us, have a celebration.”

Emma understood then. They needed this time. She couldn’t worry too much for the men. They might have killed Bodine and her if given half the chance.

Bodine moved slowly, blood continuing to pour out of his shoulder. Emma bent and ripped a measure of cotton from her petticoats and wadded it up. “Here,” she said, taking a moment to sop up the excess blood.

Bodine covered her hand with his. “I’ve got it,” he said, looking into her eyes. “We best get outta here.”

As soon as they were out of view of Hurley’s men, Bodine staggered, nearly dropping to his knees. Emma helped him, bracing his big body against hers. She couldn’t take all of his weight, but he needed her balance and guidance. “In case,” he began, his words slurring and softly spoken, so unnatural for such a powerful man. “In case I pass out, head northeast.”

She waited for him to catch his breath, realizing that northeast was in the opposite direction of San Francisco.

“Follow the road until it forks, then head up the mountain path to the foothills…get to the trading post in Oakhurst, ask for Big Ed Minton’s place.”

“Big Ed Minton’s place,” she repeated.

“Need to rest…there,” he said, and she knew he struggled to remain conscious.

It was all she could do to pack their gear, load it up and help him get onto the saddle. “Hold on, Bodine,” she said, fearful she might lose him from loss of blood. “I’ll get us to your friend’s place. Just please, hold on a while longer.”