McLeod, Anitra Lynn - Dirty Cowboy (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove) (8 page)

As crazy as it seemed, Everett knew the dust devil was Dalton. In his heart, he knew Dalton would not turn on him. But if they got out of this mess, and it looked like they might, Everett had a rapidly growing list of questions he wanted to ask. Frankly, he figured they would spend the rest of the journey in deep discussion.

As the dust devil swept around, picking up more dirt, it grew wider and taller. By the time the gunman had caught up to his cohorts, Dalton had grown into a veritable spout of spinning earth. Squinting against the flying grit, Everett watched as he moved toward the four men.

A surge of dread welled up in Everett’s chest when they all drew their guns and fired shot after shot right into the core of the swirling dirt. Nothing happened. It kept right on spinning and moving toward them. Panicked, the men holstered their weapons, yanked their horses around, and ran.

Everett whooped and hollered, urging Dalton on.

Over the rise the four men went. Close on their heels, Dalton followed. When they all disappeared from his vision, Everett realized he had to get a move on to catch up. With gentle urging, the oxen returned to their steady, lumbering pace.

Time stretched on forever. Everett kept expecting the dust devil to come back, but the horizon remained empty. Behind him, the sun was setting, turning the prairie blazing orange.

Anticipation caused him to stand as he rode up the short hill. What he saw at the top dropped him in his seat.

Nothing.

He saw absolutely nothing.

The prairie was empty for miles. He didn’t see the men. He didn’t see the dust devil. All he saw was a whole lot of nothing.

Darting his gaze this way and that, Everett realized that what seemed flat, wasn’t. There were ditches, hills, valleys, and hollows. If the men were smart, Everett figured they had broken off the main trail and scattered in four directions. One dust devil couldn’t follow four tracks, but he didn’t think Dalton would pursue them. All they wanted was to be left alone. Once the men got to running, Dalton should have stopped chasing.

That seemed logical.

But then, why hadn’t Dalton returned to him?

His heart caught.

Who knew what happened to Dalton’s thinking when he shifted form? What if he had stopped chasing but was around here, somewhere, covered in dust and unable to move like he had been at the spring? Not knowing anything about what happened to him after changing meant Everett was utterly baffled by the fallout. Had he just drifted away? Or had Dalton settled back into a pile of soft dust waiting for the wind to come again?

“Calm down. Won’t be a lick of good to no one if you panic.”

Everett didn’t even care that he was talking to himself. Right now, he needed the support. Otherwise, he might just start screaming and never stop. How could the fates be so cruel as to give him a taste of happiness then just yank everything away? What sin had he committed to deserve such harsh treatment?

Again, it was just as he’d always said. Good for one meant bad for another. It was good that Dalton had scared the men off so they could live and keep what little they had, but bad that it had apparently cost Everett his companion. Everett was grateful to be alive, but he wasn’t going to have much of a life without Dalton.

Everett found a road leading off the main so he moved the wagon over. Once he had things settled, he saddled up his horse, and set off along the main trail.

Night was falling, but Everett was determined to find Dalton. He kept his gaze along the ground, looking for a dust devil track. When he found a long, deep line in the dirt, he urged his horse to follow. As the track narrowed, he slowed his mount. Just about the last thing he wanted to do was run over Dalton. The darker it got, the harder it would be to see him if he were covered with dust, like he had been at the spring.

Step by step he moved along, but the track he’d been following just petered out. He climbed off his horse and continued on foot. When he found nothing, he moved back to where the trail ended and tried a different direction. Methodically, Everett made a wagon wheel of spokes out in every direction from where he’d tied up his horse.

Over and over he shuffled slowly through the area until he was exhausted. The night was pitch-black without a bit of moon to help him search. His hopes were utterly dashed. If Dalton were here, he would have found him by now.

“Dalton!”

He called until his voice grew rough, but still, he would not give up. Calling and slowly moving through the brush, he continued his search in the dark.

In the wee hours of the morn, the crescent moon rose, giving him some light to work with. He now moved in a spiral around the focal point of the ended dust devil track. Around and around he walked until he wanted to vomit from dizziness and fear.

Finally, at long last, frustrated, dehydrated, and emotionally broken, Everett slumped to his knees and wept.

Everett awoke with a start. He winced when he opened his eyes and looked up into the sun.

“Damn it!”

He shook the dust from his hat, plopped it on his head, then checked his surroundings.

His horse was still standing where he’d tied him off. When he rose onto his unsteady legs, he discovered his wagon was right where he’d left it. The only thing missing was the most important one. Dalton.

Dry and hot, the land around him taunted him all day with the almost constant birth of dust devils. Atop his mount, he chased them down until, much like Dalton had, they simply disappeared. When night came ’round again, he cared for the animals, ate a bit of food, then bunked down in the back of the wagon.

For three days he followed this pattern. As darkness crept across the land on the end of the third day, Everett suspected that he’d gone loco. Hell, he’d been out here wildly chasing wind through the prairie, and what did he have to show for his efforts? Nothing but crisp, sun-baked skin.

Everett became convinced that there never was a man with him, and there never were four bad men on horseback. He’d made it all up. He confirmed his self-diagnosis when he went back along the main road but couldn’t find the pile of clothing that Dalton had taken off. When he searched for horse tracks, he found plenty, but he’d also been riding around in the area for three days.

Disheartened, he climbed up into the wagon and his heart lifted a bit at how neatly the gear was organized, proof that Dalton had been here. But just as swiftly as he thought this, he frowned. He’d been at the spring for awhile. Had he arranged everything and just forgotten? The last few days were a blur in his mind.

When he sifted through the gear looking for the extra clothing that he had given to Dalton, he found two extra shirts and one pair of pants. Sitting there, touching the garments, didn’t help him recall if he’d had more clothing to begin with, or if this was what he’d had when the ill-fated journey began.

“I’m just too tired to remember.” And his inner voice remained remarkably silent.

He tossed the clothing aside then carefully put them back in the place he’d gotten them from. If Dalton had arranged this, he didn’t want to mess things up. Crud. He couldn’t even decide if he was crazy or not. The only thing Everett knew for certain was that he needed food and sleep, pretty much in that order.

After building a small fire, he discovered the meat he’d cut from the downed cow had gone bad. He dug a hole in the sand and dropped it down, burying the rotting meat within the canvas to minimize the smell. Crazy or not he didn’t want to attract coyotes.

He made a basic stew with dried meat and trail biscuits that were hard as rocks but passable when he dunked them into the soup, and afterward he made coffee. The only sounds on the prairie were him and crickets.

For a brief moment while eating dinner, Everett thought he wasn’t crazy because he remembered how good Dalton’s cooking had been. Not once in his life had he ever made anything as tasty as the soup Dalton made. But again, the joy he felt was fleeting. If he hallucinated a lover, then imagining a fantastic meal wouldn’t be all that difficult.

As far as Everett could tell, there was no way to prove or disprove Dalton’s existence. None that he could think of, at any rate. Disheartened, he doused the fire and crawled into the wagon.

He woke up in the middle of the night, eyes and ears wide. Senses straining, Everett thought he heard growling, but it was only the far-off rumbling of a storm. He’d just barely poked his head out when thunder cracked above him. The boom was so loud he almost jumped out of his skin.

Everett wasn’t a pansy, but he’d never liked thunder and lightning. Rain was fine, but when the sky lit up and the heavens growled, he went right back to his miserable childhood. When he’d been young and afraid, his father had laughed and teased him incessantly, which only increased his terror. Full grown and those words still echoed in his mind. Worse, they still had the power to hurt.

Deciding that he’d feel better if he had some light, he carefully lit one of the lanterns, then hung it up. Fearful of wasting the valuable fuel and unsure when he’d be able to replenish his supplies, he turned the flame down just about as low as he could without snuffing it.

He knew sleep wasn’t likely to come for awhile, so he settled himself on his back, and whistled. Rain plinked against the oiled canvas above him, giving him a drumbeat. Eventually the storm picked up, and rather than gentle drops, the clouds doused him with sheets of water. He couldn’t see anything beyond the wagon. The night was cold, and dark, and spooky. He whistled a livelier tune, hoping to drive away his foreboding, but then he worried that he was calling all the wandering spirits to him.

“You’re very good at that.”

Everett shot up to his feet and smacked his head into one of the wooden wagon arches. Dropping to his knees, he briskly rubbed his head. Soon enough a knot the size of an egg would form, but he didn’t really care.

“Dalton?” Not trusting his vision, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. Dalton was still there, standing at the end of the wagon, soaking wet and grinning like a devil.

“You know my name.”

“Course I know your name!” Everett refrained from launching himself out of the wagon. “You real?”

Dalton tilted his head and touched himself. “I think I am real.”

Just like at the spring, Dalton’s mode of speech was odd and his behavior curious. Everett figured it must have something to do with his amazing ability.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been all over this stinking desert and—” Everett cut himself off when Dalton just stood there, staring at him, with the most baffled expression on his face.

“You’re not happy to see me?” Dalton turned as if to go, which drove Everett out of the wagon and straight into his arms.

“Course I’m glad to see you!”

When Dalton embraced him, it was like finding the home he’d never had.

Thunder clapped above their entwined bodies, but this time, Everett wasn’t afraid. He kept right on kissing Dalton until the rain soaked him through.

“Damn, where’s my head at? You must be freezing.” It cost him just about all his willpower to release Dalton, but he did, and helped him up into the wagon.

Once he’d settled him in with the lone blanket around his shoulders, food in his belly, and about a hundred touches to ensure he was real, Everett peeled off his own soaked duds.

Shivering, he joined Dalton under the cover.

“Ah, you’re good and warm.” Everett didn’t want to chill him again with his cold body, but Dalton didn’t seem to mind. In fact, within minutes of twining together, they were pushing the cover back from all the heat they generated.

After a round of frantic sex that left them sweaty and weak, they lay together with Dalton’s head on Everett’s chest. Never, not once in his life, had he ever felt perfectly meshed with another. Dalton’s body responded to his touch with a synchronicity that was mind-bending. His body did the same for Dalton’s touch. As much as he just wanted to snuggle in and sleep, he needed to know more about Dalton’s startling ability.