The Rogue (37 page)

“Is that what you argued about?”

Diana didn’t immediately answer, shifting to lie back in the crook of his arm. His fingers plucked at the folds of the blanket.

“I. . . told him I was in love with you.”

Everything seemed to become very still. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was remarkably steady.

“And Guy didn’t believe you?”

“No. He accused me of lying, of pretending to care for you to please the Major. But that isn’t true, Holt. For the first time in my life, I don’t care what the Major wants or what would make him happy. I just know I love you.” Diana hesitated. “I know you only want me sexually and I—”

His fingers twisted cruelly into her hair, forcing her around. “I want you sexually and every other damned
way,” Holt muttered, his gray eyes racing over her startled face. “God knows I’ve tried to hate you. I even tried to pretend the lust I felt was a way to get revenge for all you’d done. But it isn’t simply lust or sex. I
love
you, Diana.”

She gave a little cry of breathless joy before his mouth crushed hers into silence. Their cup of life overflowed with the fullness of their love for each other. Wondrous contentment flooded through Diana when the kiss ended and his hand remained to gently and adoringly trace her features.

“I want us to be married, Diana,” he told her huskily. “When we get back, we’ll get the Major’s blessing and have a quiet little ceremony.”

“Yes.” She kissed the work-roughened skin of his hand.

“There will be talk, you know that,” Holt warned her. “Some damned nosy busybody is going to say I married you to get my hands on the Major’s ranch. They’ll say I married you for your money.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she teased, then sighed languidly. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what anybody says.” And she immediately knew that wasn’t true. Diana shivered. “What are we going to do about Guy?”

A grimness settled over his features. “There isn’t much we can do. Whatever happens is going to be up to him.”

“Holt, don’t go after the stallion tomorrow. We have the mares. Let the stallion go.”

“You know I can’t.” She heard the impatience in his voice. “If it isn’t tomorrow, it will be next week.”

“You don’t have to destroy him,” she argued. “For Guy’s sake, couldn’t you . . . catch him, take him to some other part of the country, and turn him loose to run free?”

“It wouldn’t solve—”

“I know it wouldn’t solve the problem,” Diana interrupted. “But don’t you see? It would be a gesture. Guy would have to realize that you spared the stallion’s
life because it was what he wanted. It wouldn’t make up for . . . everything, but it would mean something. It isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

“No.” Holt took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his voice grim. “No, it isn’t too much to ask.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes, I’ll do it.” He nodded.

“Thank you.” Diana pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand, her fingers curling tightly around his.

“I just hope to hell Guy thanks me for it,” he muttered.

“He will.” But she wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded. Any gratitude Guy might experience would never compensate for the damage their love would do to him. They both knew it.

Holt’s arms tightened around her. For the time being, Diana let herself dwell only on the fact that he returned her love. Morning and its problems would come soon enough. But at least they could face them together. She let her head rest on the pillow of his shoulder and closed her eyes.

The campfire began to flicker and die. There was only the glowing red embers in the night when a sound, a muffled footstep, awakened her. She started to open her eyes as even that dim light was blocked by something tall and dark. The arm around her waist tightened in warning, although the steady rhythm of Holt’s breathing hadn’t altered a fraction. He, too, had heard the sound and was cautioning her not to move.

Guy was standing there, staring at them. The air seemed to crackle with tension. Anger, hatred, jealousy—all seethed in the invisible undercurrents. He seemed to tower above them for an eternity. Diana wondered if he could hear the frightened drumming of her heart.

“You’re back.” Holt’s low voice seemed to vibrate through the charged air.

“Yes.” It was a savage hiss.

“Diana’s asleep.”

“So I see.” The sarcasm in Guy’s voice made Diana wince.

“You’d better get some sleep yourself,” Holt suggested, so very calm. “We’re going to catch the stallion in the morning. That isn’t very far off.” He put just the slightest emphasis on the word “catch.”

For a long minute, there was no response. Then Guy moved away to his
empty
bedroll. A shooting star flamed across the sky. In the grasses, a horse stomped and blew a soft, rolling snort. Diana lay for a long time, listening to all the comfortable night sounds, dreading morning, because she knew it hadn’t ended.

“You found your way back in the dark, I see,” Don commented as Guy joined them for coffee. “You must have cat eyes.”

Guy grunted a noncommittal answer and filled his tin mug from the speckled pot. A sullen grimness seemed permanently etched into his features. Studiously he avoided looking at either Diana or Holt, showing them with his brooding silence that nothing had been forgiven.

The sun had crested over the eastern horizon, a yellow ball that was brilliant but not yet blinding. Diana flipped the hotcake on the griddle, wondering if anyone besides Don had the appetite to eat this breakfast she was cooking.

One of the mares staked in the thick grass of the canyon floor whinnied softly. “Have you grained the horses this morning?” Holt addressed the question to Don.

“Not the mares. I grained the horses we would be riding before you saddled them.”

Holt slipped the razor into its case and wiped the excess lather from his shaven face. He glanced toward the picket line where their riding horses were tied.

“Leave your rifle with Diana,” he told Don. “Since she’s staying behind to take care of the mares, she might need it.”

“Will do,” Don agreed and started to rise.

“You can get it after you eat.” Diana handed him a plate with a stack of steaming hotcakes in the center. She started pouring more batter on the griddle. “How many cakes do you want, Guy?”

The upward sweep of her gaze was caught by the icy and angry blue of his eyes. With a violent flick of his wrist, he dumped the remainder of his coffee into the fire, the sizzling hiss matching his temper.

“You can take your cakes and shove—”

“Guy! That’s enough!” The low command from Holt spun Guy around.

“And as for you, you—” Guy couldn’t seem to find words vile enough to describe Holt.

Another mare whinnied. The sound was followed by the milling of hooves and a second, throatier neigh. “My God!” Diana hear Don exclaim and turned to see the white stallion floating down the rear slope of the canyon toward the meadow where the mares were tethered.

“He’s come to get the mares back!” he declared. Before the last word was out, the stallion had reached the first mare and tried to drive it back the way he’d come. The rope held her, stretched taut with the horse’s attempts to obey the steed that had become her master. “With those teeth, he could bite the rope in two with a single snap of his jaws.”

“He isn’t a trick horse, so he doesn’t know that.” Holt started for the picket line where the saddled horses waited. The geldings were resting, aware of the intruding stallion in the canyon, their own impotence forgotten.

“Hey, Guy, give me your rifle.” Don motioned toward the Winchester next to Guy’s bedroll. “I’ve got a clear shot from right here.”

Diana’s glance ran swiftly to Holt, who hesitated, then on to Guy. Don’s statement had broken his enthrallment with the sight of the stallion. His hardened, yet very expressive features seemed to be waiting for Holt’s reaction.

“No shooting, Don. We’re going to catch the stallion.”

“What?!!” Stunned, Don turned away from the mountain meadow to stare at Holt. He was at the picket line, untying his prancing horse. Holt’s concession amounted to an about-face as far as Don was concerned, but it didn’t soften Guy’s expression, his blue eyes still icy with bitter anger. “But you said—” Don started to protest, his legs slowly moving him toward his saddled horse.

“We may not have intended to use the mares for decoys”—Holt swung into his saddle—“but that’s what they’ve become. We’ll have a better chance to rope that white stud.”

An angry squeal reverberated across the walls of the canyon. Diana turned to see the white stallion lashing out with his hind feet at the staked mare. The vicious kick missed by inches as the mare sidestepped and struggled wildly to be free. The rope that held her became tangled in her hind feet and the mare went down.

The snapping, biting attack from the stallion could not bring the mare to her feet, not with the binding rope around her legs. Screaming in anger, the stallion switched to another mare and sent her galloping to the end of her rope.

The wild commotion had excited all the horses. Holt’s mount was almost cantering in place, straining at the bit, neck arched unnaturally high. At the edge of the camp circle, he waited for Don, who was having difficulty mounting his horse. Holt untied the lariat on his saddle and began shaking out the loop.

“Are you coming?” He shot the question at Guy.

After a stony silence came the cold and condemning reply. “You don’t need me. Not you.”

“You’re my son. I’ve always needed you.” The instant that was said, Holt glanced over his shoulder to see what was keeping Don. He didn’t make any further attempt to persuade Guy to help them.

Diana wanted to scream at Guy to go with Holt. It
could be essential to have three riders to rope the white mustang. But the time when Guy would listen to any of her arguments was over. That left only one alternative.

“I’ll go with you.” She started toward the picket line.

“God, no!!” It was an explosive refusal that halted her immediately. “Stay here,” Holt added in a less violent tone, “where I know you’re safe!”

The argument she had been inclined to offer died on her lips. It had been years since she had done any roping. Diana realized her ineptitude could prove to be more of a hindrance than a help. She turned away from the picket line in mute acceptance of Holt’s decision.

Finally in the saddle, Don joined Holt, his fractious horse plunging with nervous excitement. He, too, shook out his lariat, all business now. Any indecision or doubt he expressed at Holt’s announcement had vanished. His entire concentration was on the task at hand.

“How do you want to handle it?” he asked Holt.

“The stallion’s going to determine that. Chances are he is going to charge one of us when we approach. If it’s me, you throw the first loop. We’ll try to stretch him between us. Don’t miss,” Holt warned. “Ready?” Don nodded, pulling his hat down low on his forehead and shifting the saddle to be sure his cinch was tight and the saddle wouldn’t slip. “Let’s keep some distance between us so the stallion has to make a choice.”

With pressure relaxed on the reins, the horses bounded forward together. There was chaos in the desert meadow. The stallion’s rage at the mare’s inability to obey his commands made Diana tremble. She cast a despairing look at Guy, standing a few feet away, like an observer, showing no emotion.

The space widened between the two riders as they approached the grassy area. They kept to the open, not wanting to become entangled at a critical moment with any of the ropes tethering the mares. The white stallion
saw them coming, tossing and shaking his long mane in a flash of temper. Diana held her breath, knowing that any second the wild horse would cease to threaten. He would rush out to meet his enemy.

His shrill whistle of challenge shivered over her nerve endings. Seeming to catapult himself forward, the stallion charged. Diana’s heart rocketed in fear, the image of Rube’s horse going down with him flashing in her mind’s eye. Lightning-swift, the horse bore down on Don.

Out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw Holt’s loop snake through the air. His aim was true and the rope circled the white neck. He made a quick dally around the saddle horn and braced himself for the moment when fifteen hundred pounds of charging dynamite hit the end of the rope. Don was waiting for that second, too, his loop lazily circling the air above his head, seemingly oblivious to the danger of the onrushing stallion.

That moment never came. The instant the stallion felt the first tightening of the rope around his neck, he seemed to change directions in mid-stride. Whirling, the white fury charged at Holt, neck stretched flat, mighty jaws open. A cry of alarm tore from Diana’s throat, drowning out Holt’s shout to Don.

Spurring his horse, Don started to chase the stallion, tossing his loop. As it started to settle on the white head, the stallion swerved the fraction necessary to duck it. While Don swiftly gathered in the empty rope, Holt was trying to reel in the slack of his and keep his horse out of the path of the stallion.

Diana wanted to shut her eyes. It was becoming a nightmare. Her fingernails had dug into her palms until they were bleeding. Tears began stinging her eyes and she blinked them away, fighting through the blur to see what was going on.

The stallion was twisting and turning, relentlessly pursuing Holt. A striking hoof hit Holt’s gelding in the shoulder. His mount staggered under the blow, recovered, and eluded the next charge of the stallion. But
Holt’s success in keeping out of reach of the stallion’s jaw and hooves was the source of Don’s failure. He couldn’t find a clear opening to cast his loop. If Holt and his horse weren’t in the way, then the stallion was switching directions to follow them and Don’s rope was catching air.

The stallion’s jaws ripped a chunk of flesh from the flank of Holt’s mount and the neigh of pain made Diana’s blood run cold. Don tried to maneuver himself into a better position, swinging around the horse and rider. A mare plunged frantically out of his way to the right.

“Look out!” Diana screamed the warning, but it was too late.