Authors: The Searching Hearts
Dorothy Garlock (33 page)
His skin felt satiny smooth, warm, and she stroked
his arm with her palm, sliding it over his shoulder to the muscles of his back. He shifted position and quickly drew her shift over her head and folded his arms and legs about her. His hands became wonderfully gentle, and it seemed that time, and with it her resistance, stretched into the merest gossamer, so that she made no effort to prevent him from touching any part of her with his hands or his lips.
his arm with her palm, sliding it over his shoulder to the muscles of his back. He shifted position and quickly drew her shift over her head and folded his arms and legs about her. His hands became wonderfully gentle, and it seemed that time, and with it her resistance, stretched into the merest gossamer, so that she made no effort to prevent him from touching any part of her with his hands or his lips.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed against her mouth, his voice thick yet full of wonder. His lips moved across hers slowly, as if afraid he would miss a tiny part. His fingers traced every nerve and plane of her form, touching her with the gentle control of a lover determined to give as well as receive pleasure. Tucker ached for him, heat gathering in the sensitive areas of her body and giving rise to an urgency that could only be appeased by the weight and driving force of his body.
He kissed her a long, lingering, wonderfully tender kiss and settled his body onto hers. Her palms smoothed his back and came to rest against his flat buttocks as they lifted and he reached down to grasp hers. This was love. His body, his being, wordlessly expressed the depths of it with painstaking tenderness and reverence. He gave of himself, and sensations swirled as two bodies united and became one. His mouth covered hers as a cry rose up in her throat, trapping it in his own, and love rushed in to meet the outpouring of their passion.
Eventually they were still. Her arm circled his shoulder, and his head rested heavily on her breast.
His half-open mouth turned to her skin, moist and warm. His face was damp. She smoothed the black hair from his forehead in a caressing motion. Gradually his taut body relaxed, and his mouth nuzzled the rigid nipples on her breasts. There was a strange quiet in both of them. She held him like a tired child, clutched fiercely to protect him from all the problems that plagued him. She stroked the back of his head, loving his weight, his warmth, and wishing she could keep him safe and secure here in her arms until they put this savage country behind them.
His half-open mouth turned to her skin, moist and warm. His face was damp. She smoothed the black hair from his forehead in a caressing motion. Gradually his taut body relaxed, and his mouth nuzzled the rigid nipples on her breasts. There was a strange quiet in both of them. She held him like a tired child, clutched fiercely to protect him from all the problems that plagued him. She stroked the back of his head, loving his weight, his warmth, and wishing she could keep him safe and secure here in her arms until they put this savage country behind them.
Lucas stirred, raised his head, and peered into her eyes. His own were filled with warm affection. He began to kiss her, lazily, thoroughly.
“You going to behave now, Red?” he asked in a loving, softly slurred voice.
“If I don’t, will I get this punishment again?” Her hands roamed his torso from his shoulders down over his lean ribs.
He chuckled. “After I spank your backside.” He cradled her against him and found her lips.
She was feeling happy and lazy and satisfied as his mouth caressed hers gently, firmly. A little noise came from his throat and, drawing her closer, gentility gave way to greed. He shifted his thighs, and tangible proof of his returning desire pressed against her.
“Damn! One sweet bite of you calls for another. I could dally with you all day and never get anything done.”
“What’d be so bad about that?”
“You’d be pregnant before we got to California,” he said between kisses.
“What’d be so bad about that?” she repeated.
He raised his head and looked at her with surprise. “You wouldn’t care?”
“’Course not. I want dozens of kids and . . . think what fun we’ll have making them.”
“Oh, Red,” he murmured, his voice cracking, “don’t ever scare me like you did. Be as ornery as you want, fight me if you must, but don’t threaten to leave me or say you don’t love me!” His voice was rough with remembered pain.
“I’m sorry, Lucas. Truly, I am. Someday when this wretched journey is over, we’ll read the journal entries together and tell each other everything else that happened each step along the way.” With her hands on his cheeks, she forced him to look into her eyes. “I’ve never loved this way before, and sometimes it’s . . . painful,” she whispered.
“It’s a pain I wouldn’t have missed for anything.” His face changed with his happy grin. “You look a mess. Your hair is all tangled.”
“You don’t look so great, yourself. You need a haircut.”
“Do you want to do it?”
“Sure. I’ve got some shears in my trunk.”
“Come on, then.” He got to his feet and reached down to help her up. When he straightened, he cracked his head on the wooden bow that held the canvas top. “Goddammit!”
Tucker laughed.
“Seems you laughed the other time I cracked my head, too.” He grabbed her and, hugging her to him, playfully bit her on the neck. “Oh, Tucker Red . . . I just want to pull you inside of me and take you wherever I go.”
“I’d be like a flea and you’d be constantly scratching. I’d rather be a butterfly and sit on your shoulder.”
“Oh, no! You’d always be flitting off somewhere and I’d be spending all my time chasing after you.”
Outside the wagon, in the light from the lantern, Tucker trimmed his hair. Members of the train passed back and forth as they visited with neighbors or just walked around enjoying the coolness of the mountain air. They smiled or called a greeting, but didn’t linger. They knew the wagon master had taken the teacher for his woman. Two romances had blossomed already, and each woman on the train held out hope that she, too, would find romance in California.
Tonight and for as long as he wanted her, Frank Parcher was certain the redheaded woman would be his. He hadn’t planned on making his move until the train was closer to El Paso, where it was just a short jump over into Mexico. But waiting was no longer possible. He congratulated himself on his patience so far—and it had taken patience to stay with the train taking orders from Steele. Frank chuckled and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
He’d ridden out of Fort Davis at midnight last night. Resting now in the dappling shadow of a scrub oak, he glanced back at the second horse he was leading. It carried the plunder bags and the second saddle he would need to take his woman to Mexico. He was busy calculating how he was going to get her away from the train. He knew for certain that he was going to shoot Lucas Steele out of the saddle. It would be an easy shot, and so satisfying. His rifle lay in front of him across the pommel, its muzzle pointing down
the slope, his right hand grasping it around the action, his thumb caressing the hammer.
the slope, his right hand grasping it around the action, his thumb caressing the hammer.
Back at the fort he had stood in the shadows and listened to the talk there. He’d discovered he wasn’t the only one interested in the train. A trainload of women would bring a right smart lot of money sold in the right place. A whorehouse down south would give as much as a hundred dollars gold for a white woman. He’d heard some drifters talking about how easy it would be to pick off the train, and he’d decided to hightail it out. No bastard was going to cheat him out of his woman.
Thinking about that woman was making him careless. He put his heels to his horse and moved on. It had been a good long time since he had skylined himself on the top of a ridge. If a man wanted to live in this country, he stopped with a background against which his shape could offer no outline. Frank never took a risk if he didn’t have to, whether he suspected an enemy to be nearby or not. He had known men who’d skylined themselves, slept beside a campfire, took a step away from their weapons . . . they were dead now.
There was one worry that kept inching its way into Frank’s mind—Lone Buck Garrett. Sooner or later he would have to tangle with that half-breed. With Steele out of the way, more than likely it would be Garrett to come after him and the woman. He thought on it. If Lone Buck kept to his usual pattern of the last few weeks, he would be a good five miles ahead of the train, leaving the Mexican kid to scout the rear. If the
Collins woman was driving her own wagon, the drover would be back with the mules, leaving the kid free to roam. But that didn’t particularly bother Frank. Only Garrett did.
Collins woman was driving her own wagon, the drover would be back with the mules, leaving the kid free to roam. But that didn’t particularly bother Frank. Only Garrett did.
The day was hot and muggy, and from the looks of the clouds in the southwest a storm could be brewing. Frank grinned with satisfaction. A good crackling storm would be a help. Now he searched out a probable vantage point where he could watch for the train and not be spotted by anyone from below. He reckoned it to be a little past noon. He had made straight for the hills when he left the fort and had found a spot to catch a few winks and give Lone Buck time enough to move out. Now he figured to be between Garrett and the train, and it was time to turn his sights on Steele. One shot would knock him out of the saddle and another would finish him off. In the hubbub that followed, he’d ride in and get his woman. She’d come willingly once he turned his gun on the blind gal.
Below him and to the right was a clump of bushes and a boulder. He gauged its height and his own position, then glanced about for a place to tie the horses.
* * *
Buck left the camp an hour before dawn. The night was still close about and there were no stars. He rode cautiously along the dim trail and headed southwesterly toward the hills. He avoided the trail the wagon train would take come dawn and cut straight across country. It was lonely, rugged terrain where stunted cedars and gnarled oaks clung to the ridges of
the canyon and where low spreading shrubs with hookline thorns could cripple an unwary horse.
the canyon and where low spreading shrubs with hookline thorns could cripple an unwary horse.
Chata had been waiting for him when he’d returned from his walk with Laura. He had sent the boy to the fort to see what he could find out about the eight men who had circled the train a few days back and to see if he could find out what Parcher was up to. He had known that no one was likely to pay any attention to a skinny Mexican kid hanging about.
Buck allowed himself a chuckle. The stupidity of some people! They were so busy looking at what was on the outside of a man’s head, they paid no attention at all to what was on the inside.
Parcher had bought a horse and saddle and enough supplies for several weeks. The eight renegades had bought whiskey from the sutler and had camped outside the fort. Chata had not been able to get close enough to hear much of their talk, but he had heard enough to know the men were aware of the train of women and of how much a white woman would bring at a bordello in Mexico.
While he’d hashed over this information with Lucas, Buck had sent Chata back to watch Parcher. Parcher was the immediate danger; he was about to take action. So far the others had just talked. When Chata returned with the news that Parcher had ridden out, Buck and Lucas talked over their own plan of action and Buck lay down for an hour’s sleep.
Now, with an eye to the sky and the probable storm that was brewing, Buck approached a rise in the ground where a stream dipped through a cut. He
dismounted. While his horse drank its fill, Buck looked over the rise and studied the slope with a skeptical eye. Buck’s mind had been sharpened and his senses honed by years of frontier living. He knew the mountains and how to live in them. No cat could move more quietly, no hawk had a keener eye, no deer was more alert. The Indians had taught him to live by his senses, and his senses told him that he was now midway between Parcher and the train.
dismounted. While his horse drank its fill, Buck looked over the rise and studied the slope with a skeptical eye. Buck’s mind had been sharpened and his senses honed by years of frontier living. He knew the mountains and how to live in them. No cat could move more quietly, no hawk had a keener eye, no deer was more alert. The Indians had taught him to live by his senses, and his senses told him that he was now midway between Parcher and the train.
Some distance ahead the valley narrowed before it widened out and finally opened onto the plains. If Parcher was waiting, he would be in that place.
Buck climbed into the saddle, crossed the stream, and pushed on, keeping near the trees. He did not head for the likely spot of ambush, but above it. He watched the sky for birds startled into flight and his eyes methodically swept from side to side, taking in every clump of brush, every outcropping of rock. He watched the sorrel’s ears. He had cut his horse out of a wild herd whose ancestors had survived for generations by being alert to danger. Self-preservation was bred into the animal. Buck worked his way along the upper level of the hillside, riding in and out of the trees, weaving a careful path.
He was emerging from behind a stand of spruce when he saw movement down below. He pulled up on the reins, and his horse stood perfectly still. He kept his eyes glued to the spot and saw the movement again. The sorrel’s ears came up one at a time, flicked, and stood straight. Buck slid carefully from the saddle. What he had seen was the back of a horse,
its tail swishing at the flies that tormented it. Looking carefully, he discerned a second horse. How far away? A quarter of a mile?
its tail swishing at the flies that tormented it. Looking carefully, he discerned a second horse. How far away? A quarter of a mile?
A small, open grassy spot lay before him. Farther down stood a clump of brush. To reach it he would be visible for no more than a few seconds. On the way down, he pulled a handful of tender grass. He paused behind the first clump of bushes he reached before he moved to the second, then started down the slope on an angle opposite the one he had been using. Using infinite care and keeping close to the cover of the brush, he approached the two horses from the front so they would see him and not be startled. Moving to their heads, he allowed them to take the grass from his hand. From this position Buck knew there was only one place Parcher could be waiting.
Buck took his gun from its holster and checked the load. He felt for the knife tucked in his belt at the small of his back. He squinted his eyes under the brim of his hat and studied the terrain with care, measuring the distance. It had been a long time since he had been quite this cautious. Nothing must happen to him now. His life had suddenly become very precious to him—ever since the small, golden-haired angel had come into his world.
He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he allowed himself a moment to think of Laura. When he thought about her, it was like breathing clean, fresh air after being locked in the sweatbox at Yuma Prison. Sometimes the most important thing in a man’s life came at the most unexpected time, he reflected. It had
been that way with him. He hadn’t wanted to come east with Lucas to take the women back to Coopertown; but knowing that Lucas needed the money to start a spread, he had agreed. Now no hour of the day passed that he didn’t think of Laura. She was always with him. He hadn’t believed himself capable of feeling this all-consuming love for another person.
been that way with him. He hadn’t wanted to come east with Lucas to take the women back to Coopertown; but knowing that Lucas needed the money to start a spread, he had agreed. Now no hour of the day passed that he didn’t think of Laura. She was always with him. He hadn’t believed himself capable of feeling this all-consuming love for another person.
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