Desert Dreams (18 page)

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.

He'd carried the image of the dream with him throughout the
day. They were getting closer to Mexico with every step. He'd traveled this
route so many times he could almost do it in his sleep. He knew what lay ahead:
the Nueces River, a wide stretch of parched land leading to the Rio Grande,
and, beyond that, El
Alacran
.

What was he going to do about Annie? She was already
beginning to toughen a little. A good thing. She'd need every ounce of strength
and courage she possessed before this journey was over. He hoped it would be
enough.

Chapter 12

Anne didn't remember
much about last
night, but she did have a vague recollection of slipping from the saddle into
Rafe's
strong arms. She couldn't remember ever being more
exhausted.

Rafe had taken care of her—again. She seemed to remember
eating something, which he had undoubtedly provided. And this morning, when
she'd awakened, she'd been wrapped in her bedroll.

As the miles slipped by, she found herself becoming more and
more dependent on Rafe, and she wasn't at all sure she liked it. She'd learned
a long time ago never to depend on anyone but herself. Now it seemed she didn't
have a choice. It was that or perish.

Her legs were stiff and sore this morning. The pain in her
inner thighs made her wonder how she could ever ride when just walking caused
such agony. Every muscle in her body ached and cramp as she made her way to
Rafe, who was leaning against a scruffy-looking cottonwood tree.

A dry streambed wound its way through the desolate landscape,
barely noticeable, except for the fact that it lay a little lower than the rest
of the land. Brush and prickly pears dotted the banks just as they did the rest
of the terrain. She couldn't help wondering how long it had been since this
stream had contained any water.

"We may not see water until we get to the Nueces,"
he said without looking up, as if he'd sensed her presence.

His words reminded her of her canteen and her saddlebags.
Where were they? She scanned the campsite but they were nowhere to be found.
Her gaze jerked to the horses. Either he had saddled them or he hadn’t
unsaddled them the night before.

No, he would never leave them saddled overnight. He’d taken
her things-her saddlebags-from the saddle. He’d had all night to go through her
things? To take her money.

"How far is that?" She wanted to know, but she also
wanted to stop her irrational thoughts.

"We ought to be there before nightfall, if we don't run
into any trouble."

"Do you expect trouble?" She searched his eyes. He
might not tell her the truth, but maybe she could read it in his expression.

"No, but you never know out here."

"How do you know the Nueces won't be dry too?"

He smiled, and she felt a bit foolish, as if she'd asked the
question about the Mississippi. "Well, there's no way to be sure, but I've
never known the Nueces to dry up. It's a big river, by desert standards anyway,
so it would take one hell of a drought."

She swallowed hard. They would make it. They had to. Rafe
knew this country as well as anyone else. He must know what he was talking
about. "Do we have enough water?"

"Yes, if we watch it." He pushed away from the tree
and made his way back toward camp. "We'd better get started. It'll be
getting hotter as the sun gets higher. We don't want to be caught out in the
open at the hottest part of the day."

He walked toward the horses and Anne followed. She moved
slowly, each step an exercise in agony that sent flashes of pain burning
through her legs.

Reaching the horses, Rafe lifted her canteen from around his
saddle horn and turned to give it to her, only to find that she hadn't yet
reached him.

Her slow, awkward gate touched his calloused heart. He knew she'd
sooner die than admit she was in pain and risk another lecture on her unfitness
for this country. Her eyes met his, and her chin lifted slightly at the
expression on his face.

"You all right this morning, Miss Cameron?" he
asked.

She glared at him. "I'll be fine."

He handed her the canteen, and she took it with a look of
surprise.

"We might get separated,” he said with a lopsided grin.

He was echoing her concern from the day before. It probably
meant nothing, but she couldn’t help asking, "What if we do?"

The fear in her voice twisted his heart. "Don't worry.
But you should have your own water supply, just in case. If we do get
separated, just stop wherever you are and stay put. I'll find you."

Her expression doubtful, Annie gazed at him for a moment. She
still didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame her. It showed intelligence on
her part.

She took the canteen and walked around to her horse, winding
the leather strap around the saddle horn. Reaching up to mount, she groaned and
a grimace of pain wrinkled her forehead.

"You sure you're all right?"

She refused to look at him as she murmured, "Will you
help me?"

"What? Annie Cameron admitting she needs help?"

"If you're going to make fun of me... "

Rafe had come to stand behind her. A tremor rippled through
her body. Her every nerve ending hummed as she waited breathlessly for him to
touch her, wanting and fearing at the same time.

Unable to bear the tension, she twisted around to face him
and immediately regretted it. Her body brushed his, the contact flashed through
her like a bolt of lightning. He tensed and so did she. Both of them backed
away if that bolt of lightning had struck between them.

"Don't we need to get started?" she asked, her
voice thin and unsteady.

His gaze traveled down from her eyes to her lips. It was all
she could do to breathe. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her, he
moved past her, closer to the horse.

"You don't have to jump every time I make a move, Annie.
If I meant to harm you, I'd have done it by now."

Heat rose to her cheeks. If he'd meant his words to be
comforting, they had the opposite effect. She was completely at his mercy. It
wasn't the first time that thought had occurred to her, but is blunt words
brought it home in a way that made her blood turn cold.

Last night, she had been too exhausted to stay awake long
enough to take herself to bed. Not only could he have gone through her
belongings, he could have done anything he wanted to her. Truth was, he could
do anything he wanted any time he wanted. The absolute silence of the land
around them overwhelmed her for the first time. She had no idea where they
were, not really. She had no idea how far it was to the next town. If he left
her behind, she would die.

"Don't you think I know what you think of me?" he
asked, breaking into her dark thoughts.

"How could you?" Her voice trembled slightly.
"I don't even know—"

"I am a bounty hunter," he said, anger showing in
the depths of his pale eyes. "I kill for money. I live from day to day,
never knowing when I'm going to meet a faster gun and end up dead. I have no
principles. In any other circumstance, you'd put as much distance between us as
you could, and you'd be smart to do it."

"Well, if all that's true, why should I trust you?"

"Because I don't have any reason to want to harm you.
And you don’t have any choice."

"And you have a reason to harm the men you kill for the
bounty on their heads?"

"To my way of thinking I do." He shrugged.
"Besides, it's what I'm good at. Now, if you don't mind, put your foot in
my hands."

"Why?" She knew why, but she wasn't sure she wanted
to comply.

"Just do as I say. I'm going to give you a leg up so we
can get going."

She stepped toward him, placing her left hand on his shoulders
for balance as she lifted her booted foot. He dropped his hands and stood up
with a sigh before she could plant her foot.

"Hold on to the saddle like I taught you. I'm trying to
put you on the damned horse, remember?"

"Well, you don't have to curse at me! I've never done
this before."

He said nothing, just leaned over to assist her. She grabbed
the saddle by the back lip and the pommel but found she couldn't lift her foot
high enough to place it in his hands without experiencing excruciating pain throughout
her hips and buttocks. How was she ever going to ride all day?

His hand closed around her foot, and she began hopping on her
other one, trying with all her might to steady herself, to pull herself up. But
she lost her balance.

Before she hit the ground, he grabbed her, swinging her up
into his arms as he had that night in San Antonio.

She struggled in his embrace, but in her efforts to put some
distance between them she only succeeded in increasing the contact, sending
tremors of excitement through his body.

"Put me down!" she demanded breathlessly.

"Just wait."

"Put me down. Please!"

But he didn't. Instead, he carried her back to the horse as
if she were a child and turned her, shifting her in his arms so he could lift her
high enough to put her in the saddle.

She sat for a moment with both legs dangling over the same
side of the horse as she had seen ladies in Natchez and New Orleans ride and
glad she didn't have to try to stay in the saddle this way.

"Throw your right leg over his neck," he instructed
gruffly.

She did as he said, wincing in pain as she settled into the
saddle. He stood close by, and she used him to lean on while she found her
stirrups. When it was done and she was securely seated, he turned away and walked
toward his own horse.

***

At noon, they stopped at a place where two mesquite trees
stood close enough together so that Rafe could string a sleeping bag between
them for shade. He spread another on the ground, then upended her saddle on the
blanket so that it rested on the pommel side. He’d done this before, so Anne
knew what to do. She slipped into it and leaned back as if she were sitting in
a chair.

Lunch was dried beef. It was barely palatable, but Anne
managed to eat a small amount, knowing it was the last scrap of food she would
get until they stopped for the night, and who knew when that would be?

She glanced over at Rafe where he lay on his side, his torso
propped up on an elbow, to find him studying her intently. An instant,
uncontrollable tremor rippled through her. It was maddening the way he could
set her pulse racing with nothing more than a glance, while he seemed to remain
completely unaffected.

"So," he said in a slow, lazy tone, "why is
this gold so important to you?"

"Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just trying to make conversation," he replied, as
he rolled onto his back.

She decided it could do no harm to tell him. "There's a
house in Ubiquitous. It belonged to my aunt. I want to buy it."

He laughed. "That's it? With a million dollars, you
could buy the whole town. You could do whatever you want to do, go wherever you
want to go."

"What I want is a home of my own and a simple
life," she replied, trying not to be hurt by his attitude. He had no idea
who she was, where she'd come from.

"What about your family?"

"I don't have any family." She watched him for a
reaction, but he just looked at her with those cold, benign eyes.

"Where are you from?" he asked, but she wasn't sure
he really cared.

"I was born in St. Louis. I've lived in Natchez, New
Orleans, Vicksburg,
Baton
Rouge. My daddy was a
riverboat gambler. My mother was a New Orleans Creole. Her family owns one of
the biggest sugar plantations in Louisiana, or they did before the war."

"Well, you should have gone and stayed with them instead
of coming here after your father died. It would have been safer."

She laughed ironically. "They wouldn't have anything to
do with me
or
my father. My father wasn't one
of them. He was a Yankee from Pennsylvania. He came down to New Orleans on a
riverboat and sneaked into a ball, and that's where he met and fell in love
with my mother. Her family disowned her when she married him."

But when they found out he died in the war-“

“My father didn't die in the war. He was gunned down on the
street in Natchez for cheating at cards.”

His expression changed slightly. She could swear she saw a
flicker of something like compassion. Maybe he wasn't made of stone. She
remembered the kiss and the pain and longing she'd sensed.

"What about you?" she challenged. "Do you have
family?"

"I have a brother."

"In New Mexico? Do you ever go back there?"

He hesitated for a moment before replying. "We don't get
along."

"But he's your brother. Surely—"

"He hates me, Miss Cameron," he said sharply.
"And I can't say I blame him."

"You drive people away."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, then gave a frown of annoyance.

She was immediately sorry she had been so blunt. "I'm
sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Go on. You seem to know so much."

Unwilling to be intimidated by his sarcasm, she straightened
her spine and met the challenge in his words. "You wear this mask of
violence. You purposely intimidate people because you don't want anyone to get
too close and see what's behind the mask."