Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (17 page)

“We’ve got a long ride this afternoon. We’ll rest the horses for an hour. Care for a swim?”

“I don’t swim.”

“I’ll teach you someday,” he said and led the two horses down to the pool to drink.

Katy walked back and forth to strengthen her legs, then went into the thick foliage that surrounded the clearing. When she was sure that she was out of sight, she emptied her aching bladder, leisurely straightened her clothing, and walked back toward the waterfall. She entered the clearing to see Rowe running up from the pool. He stopped short when he saw her.

“Don’t wander off like that! You scared the hell out of me.”

A look of irritation settled on her face. “You scare easily. I’ve got my pistol in case an Indian grabs me.”

“That damn pistol wouldn’t do you much good if you ran into a grizzly.”

“In that case, I’ll yell and you can come running to save me.” She refused to let him see the fear that knifed through her at the mention of a grizzly bear. She had seen the remains of a big, burly miner who had been surprised by one.

“You shouldn’t be shy about having to relieve yourself. We all do it. The next time you feel the need for privacy let me know and I’ll take a look around before you go behind the bushes.”

A flush of color came to her cheeks and the light of battle came into her eyes, but she refused to argue with him. She tossed her hat on the ground beside her canteen and food pack, sat down, leaned against the trunk of a tall spruce and worked her fingers into the hair at her temples. She was terribly conscious of him standing there looking down at her, but she ignored him and took out a slice of buttered bread and a piece of venison.

“I’m going to take a quick swim.” He stood his rifle against the tree beside her. “Do you know how to use a .44 Henry?”

“I think I can figure it out.” Her tone was indifferent. She began to eat.

Struggling for patience, Rowe flipped off his hat, whipped his shirt up over his head, and threw them down on the ground beside her. Her lashes swept up; beneath them, her eyes burned bright with resentment. Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to see them shine with pleasure as they had done when she first saw the waterfall. Her face, paler than when he had first met her, showed signs of fatigue. Her eyes seemed larger, bluer, more mysterious with the dark bruises beneath.

Why couldn’t they exchange a dozen words without locking horns? Damn her! He couldn’t keep himself from staring at her. If anyone had told him that a light-haired, blue-eyed woman could tie his stomach in knots, dry up his throat and mouth, cause him sleepless nights and worthless days unless he was with her, he would have called him a liar. Yet it was true . . . and more. A grinding need to be with her was with him constantly.

A slip of a woman called Katy had led him to the border between heaven and hell.

“Rest, Katy,” he murmured and fought the urge to say anything else by walking away.

The regret in his eyes, the kindness in his voice, forced Katy to swallow several times before the bread in her mouth would go down her throat. She watched him stride toward the far end of the pool. His dark hair glistened in the sunlight. The satin-smooth skin that stretched over his broad shoulders and back was as dark as the skin on his face. To her shame, she wanted to kiss him again as she had done before. It’s only the mating urge, she told herself sternly, and it has nothing to do with love. When she chose a husband, it would be a man with whom she had a lot in common; a man who wanted roots, not a fly-by-night miner with his sights set on the pot at the end of the rainbow.

Rowe sat down on the bank and removed his boots. When he stood, Katy saw a flash of his naked body before he dived into the cold mountain pool. In growing disbelief she watched his dark head surface. He was naked! Knowing that he was in plain sight of her, he had stripped off his clothing. No one had seen
her
completely naked since she was old enough to bathe herself.

Katy stared at him with the dull, fixed expression of the hypnotized before she shifted her eyes toward the waterfall. Anton was there, climbing on the rocks. He, at least, had kept on his britches. Her eyes went back to Rowe circling the pool with long even strokes. What had he said? “I’ll teach you someday.” How wonderful it would be to be so uninhibited that you could bare your body and frolic in a mountain pool.

A stifling heat and a tangible palpitation centered in her groin, steadily mounting, causing her to clamp her thighs tightly together. The hand holding the meat and bread rested in her lap. The vision of Rowe’s turgid maleness impaling her and setting up its own tempo of invasion and withdrawal caused her face to burn with shame. Quickly she got to her feet, walked a short distance, and stood with her back to the pool until the unnerving, alien thing inside her subsided.

The nooning past, they wasted no time saddling the horses and moving out. This time it was Anton who led, with Rowe falling back behind Katy. At first, the fact that his eyes were on her exerted a constant tension in her, and then the beauty of her surroundings assumed dominance over her mind.

For several miles they rode across barren places of exposed rock that in places were made wet by a mountain spring. Then they dipped down into thick forest, along a frequently used trail that followed the natural contour of the wooded mountainside. Once, they passed beneath an overhang where one corner was blackened by campfires made by travelers who had spent the night there.

The sun had gone behind the mountain and the air was decidedly cooler when Anton stopped and held up his hand.

“Someone coming up the trail,” he said quietly over his shoulder.

“In here.” Rowe rode around Katy and led the way into trees so thick that after twenty feet they were invisible from the trail. “Get down, Katy. Throw a rein around the mare’s mouth and keep her quiet.”

Katy did as she was told. The mare’s ears were peaked and she tossed her head. Katy stroked her nose, but held tightly to the strap that kept her from nickering a greeting to the horses approaching.

Anton held the other two horses as Rowe, with rifle in hand, moved silently back through the trees toward the trail.

“Who is it?” Katy whispered.

“Don’t know. Could be friendly, could be robbers, could be Indians. It’s best to be sure.”

The sound of male voices reached them, growing stronger as the riders neared the place where they had gone into the woods. The gruff laughter was an unnatural sound in this dim, cool place. Birds flew silently away; a rabbit bounded out of the brush and raced through the trees. Then it was so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat.

Katy glanced at Anton. She had no time to wonder why he was frowning. A voice came from directly behind them.

“Ya did jist what I ’spected ya’d do if ya heard us coming. Step out from behind that horse, mister.”

Katy whirled around. The man who spoke was tall and gaunt. He wore filthy buckskins, a small leather hat, and his face was covered with a stubble of black beard. He held what looked like an ancient shotgun in the crook of his arm, the muzzle-end pointed at her.

Anton moved around, his eyes never leaving the stranger.

“What do you want?” Katy demanded.

“Wal, now. I was jist wantin’ the horses, but seein’ how ya’re young ’n’ ain’t all used up yet, I just might take ya along too.”

“You lay a hand on me and I’ll blow a hole in you so wide that—”

“Katy.” Anton’s voice held a warning.

“He’s not taking my horse . . . or me!” she flared.

“Whopzee-do! She be one of them what gets her dander up. I ain’t had me no fightin’ woman in a spell.” He swung the gun toward Anton. “Stand clear a that horse.”

Anton stood his ground. “If you shoot that gun, you’ll hit both the horses and you’ll still be afoot.”

The gun swung back toward Katy.

“Not if I shoot her. Move, or I’ll cut ’er in two with a blast from this buffalo gun.”

Anton stepped back from the horses but held the reins in his hand.

It rankled Katy that Anton was so ready to do what this dirty, seedy character told him.

“You’re a two-bit excuse for a man,” she snarled recklessly. “You’re no better than a belly-crawling snake!”

“Right sassy, ain’t ya? I can fix that. A week on yore back, naked as a young jaybird, would take some of the sass outta ya. After that ya’d be lickin’ my hand.”

“I’d die first!” Katy’s eyes darted toward the trees where Rowe had disappeared.

“That ’en ridin’ that black ain’t goin’ ta help ya. Zoot and Willy’ll take care of him. We seen ya from the bluff when ya come out on the rocks. Our horses is ’bout played out. Figured we’d take yores.” The rebounding crack of a rifle punctuated his words. “See thar what I mean?” Two more shots were fired and the man began to laugh. “Haw, haw, haw.”

The bone-chilling fear that pierced Katy was as sharp as a knife. Concern for Rowe took hold of her and shook her. A startled scream died in her throat as illogical rage took possession of her reason.
Rowe! Rowe
! As she turned, her hand delved into her pocket seeking the Derringer. Without removing it, she pointed it toward the hated laughing face and pulled the trigger. To her utter amazement the bullet missed and the tree behind him spat bark. The man’s face stiffened with anger.

“Gawddamn! Ya’d shoot me when I was meanin’ ta take ya with me? Ya gawddamn slut! I’ll kill ya—”

“Drop the gun! I’ll not miss from this range.” Rowe, holding his rifle at waist height, stepped out from behind the shelter of the trees directly behind the attacker.

“Don’t move, woman,” the man warned, when Katy dropped the reins to run to Rowe.

“Mister, if you don’t want my bullet to take away the base of your spine, and rip out the front of your belly, drop your gun.” Rowe spoke calmly. The skin at the corners of his eyes tightened ever so slightly, narrowing his gaze.

Katy couldn’t take her eyes off of Rowe. Relief made her weak.

“Ya’ll shoot me anyways.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I can get the woman first.”

“Then you’ll die slow, strung up to a tree for the buzzards to pick at and the wolves to gnaw on.”

To Katy, the entire scene seemed to play out with agonizing slowness. The air of nonchalance around Rowe was unrealistic. His eyes were devoid of expression, his features as blank and cold as marble.

“I ain’t here all by my own self.”

“Your friends were stupid, like you. Loud talk and looking this way told me right where to find you.” Rowe spoke calmly, as if he were speaking of the weather. “One horse carried double by the looks of the sweat on his rump. I figured that man was in the woods. I gave them one shot, then I rushed matters a little to get back here.”

“Ya kilt Zoot ’n’ Willy?”

“Deader than hell.”

“Wal, I guess I know when I’m licked.”

Katy opened her mouth to shout a warning. The man’s face was like that of a cornered wolf. His lips curled back in a snarl. He lowered the end of the gun, then, as he turned, he jerked it up.

“Don’t!” Rowe said and fired.

The bullet crashed through the man’s chest, out his back, and across the mare’s rump. The snarl was still on the man’s face as he was thrown back. He was dead before his body hit the ground. The frightened mare, stung by the bullet, charged into Katy, knocking her off her feet, then bolted through the trees.

“Katy!” She heard Rowe’s voice through the pounding in her head. The breath had been knocked out of her when she hit the ground. She felt herself being lifted into a sitting position. Rowe brushed the wet leaves from her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t think so. Rowe, is he . . . ?”

“He’s dead,” he said bluntly, and then added when he felt her shudder. “I had to shoot.”

“I know.” She looked into his face as she lifted her palm to his cheek. “I thought they’d killed you.”

On his knees beside her, he put his arms around her and she put her arms around him. They held each other tightly.

“Rowe.” The gold-tipped lashes lifted, and eyes, blue, deep, and filled with concern, searched his. “He wasn’t a dozen feet from me and I . . . missed him.”

“It’s a good thing you did, honey. If you hadn’t killed him outright, he’d have killed you with that buffalo gun. It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot.” The arms encircling her tightened, making her feel the fear that trembled in his big frame.

“I shot a hole in my skirt,” she whispered against his neck.

He chuckled nervously, and held her away from him so he could look into her face. “I’ll buy you another when we get to Virginia City.” He stood, pulled her to her feet, and turned her away from the gruesome sight of the dead man. “Anton went after the mare.” He gathered up the reins of the two remaining horses and urged her out of the clearing.

“Are you going to just leave . . . him?”

“There’s nothing we can do now. We’re only an hour away from my friend’s ranch. In the morning Sam and I will come back and bury them.”

“I hate this country!” she blurted. “Death and violence is everywhere. I want to go home where I can sit on my porch and drink lemonade without being insulted. I want to walk along a path without having to look over my shoulder and carry a pistol in my pocket. I’m sick of the West. Sick!”

Rowe didn’t answer. He knew by the trembling in her body that reaction to what had just occurred had set in. They came out of the woods to find Anton and the mare waiting.

The bullet had passed across the mare’s rump, leaving a deep gash. Rowe found a place where water had seeped out of the rocks and onto the ground. He smeared mud on the cut to stop the bleeding and to protect it from flies.

“The movement of the saddle will keep that cut open. Katy will have to ride double with me until we get to Sam’s.” Rowe handed Anton Juliet’s reins. “I hate leaving two saddled horses to fend for themselves. Maybe they’ll follow us down to Sam’s.”

Anton nodded. He mounted his own horse and, leading the mare, proceeded up the trail.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Katy said.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Rowe stepped into the saddle and held his hand out to her. “Step on my foot,” he instructed.