"Afraid? Hell, no! I'll go anywhere as long as you pay me for the use of my mules. It's just a waste of time because there's no gold out there." Yazzie stood up and shuffled outside.
The other four gazed bleakly at each other for a moment.
"He's lying," Ramona said finally. "I believe Sharkey, even if the rest of you don't."
Dodge agreed. "We just have to have faith in our old friend."
Ramona nodded, then looked at Tory. "I'm going to put my sleeping bag on the front porch. You want to sleep out there, too?"
Tory nodded and followed Ramona.
Dodge clapped Rex on the shoulder. "And we'll fix our sleeping bags out under the trees, right, Rex?"
"Unless you know of a nearby motel," Rex grumbled.
"Nope," Dodge said, and winked at Tory.
In spite of her sophistication, she blushed at his overture. What was wrong with her, anyway? After all, they had been intimate. She should be beyond that kind of reaction. She gave him a shy smile, suddenly feeling like a teenager at camp with a crush on the guy in the next tent. Only here, there were no tents.
Rex and Ramona headed for the Jeep to get their sleeping bags while Dodge and Tory went to the Blazer for theirs. Dodge detained Tory with a firmly placed hand on her arm. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips for a sensuous series of tiny kisses across her knuckles. "Would you like to take a walk in the moonlight?"
"Gee, Marshal," she drawled in a responding, affected tone, "I'd love to. You're such a gentleman to suggest it."
"I'll meet you at the tree stump after we've made our beds. And no guarantees about the gentleman part."
"Why, Marshal ..." She fluttered her eyelids and fanned herself with her hand. "You aren't suggesting—"
He pulled her closer and whispered, "Trouble is, I've already done more than sniff your brandy, Tory. And I feel the need for a little of your fire. I've just got to figure out the logistics of our little problem."
"I think you might as well forget our liaison, Marshal."
"No way, fancy pants. Meet me and we'll discuss the matter in greater depth."
"Dodge, don't you think—"
He pressed his finger to her lips. "I can only think of you sleeping in that tight sleeping bag, all by yourself. And that I'd like to be in there with you, with those long legs of yours wrapped around mine."
"Well, obviously we can't," she murmured breathlessly. The picture he described was enough to set her own imagination into erotic overdrive.
He refused to take her word for it. "By the tree stump. Five minutes. We'll discuss it."
Tory was absolutely shaky with anticipation as she threw her sleeping bag down on the porch beside Ramona's, unfastened the binders, and flopped it open. She fluffed the small pillow and announced in a low voice, "I think I'll take a little walk, Ramona."
"The outhouse is around back. Want me to go out there with you?" Ramona asked politely.
"No, I, uh, Dodge and I are—"
"Oh, of course," Ramona interrupted. "How stupid of me."
Tory turned to go, and Ramona laid a hand on her arm. "Tory, be careful. Don't go far."
"I told you I'd be with Dodge," Tory snapped. "Don't you think we'll be safe?"
Ramona dropped her hand. "With Dodge, sure. But—"
"But what?"
"Oh, nothing. I guess I'm just jumpy after what happened to Sharkey."
"Well, I'm not worried when I'm with Dodge," Tory said to convince herself as much as Ramona. She slipped down the porch steps and met Dodge with an urgency she couldn't hide, even in the darkness.
He pulled her into his arms and greeted her with a silent, hard-pressed kiss, melding their bodies into one shadowed form.
When he finally lifted his head, she murmured, "I think you're right, Dodge. It's going to be a long night without you."
"We could make other sleeping arrangements."
She considered his proposal, then thought of the embarrassing consequences. "No, I don't think we should. Not now, anyway." She grasped his large hand in both of hers and started walking. "How about a walk beneath that beautiful Arizona moon you promised me?"
He scrutinized the somewhat cloudy sky. "Moon's hiding. It'll be out a little later," he promised, directing her to the canopy of a small group of pines. "We'll just have to wait for it to appear. It's waiting for you that's driving me crazy." He stopped on a carpet of pine needles and turned her into his arms. Framing her face with his large hands, he repeatedly murmured her name, kissing her cheeks and eyes and chin.
When his mouth finally merged with hers, she moaned with longing. She opened her lips to match his. He kissed her almost savagely, his mouth moving on hers until she slumped against his chest, weak with renewed desire that flooded her body. His arms kept her pressed tightly against him as his tongue caressed the inside edge of her lips, then probed further.
Tory clung to the strength, the sweet-plunging tongue of this man who excited her so wildly and loved her so thoroughly. She felt his arousal and knew they shared the same desire. Again. Now!
"Here, Tory," he murmured, lowering them to their knees on the pine needle cushion. His hands molded around her breasts, so confined inside her blouse. With a wildness unlike anything she'd ever felt, Tory wanted to rip her clothes away and feel his hands on her bare flesh. God, how she burned for him.
He left her aching breasts and reached for the snap on her jeans. Just as his hand slid the zipper down and found her flesh, she heard a noise. He heard it, too, for he froze.
She quelled a small gasp, and instinctively he covered her mouth with his free hand and dragged her roughly with him behind the nearest tree.
Tory struggled to get free, but he held her firmly against him. Her labored breathing blended with his; their hearts pounded together. She strained against him, her eyes wide and puzzled.
"Shhhh," he hissed in her ear.
She grew limp, and he slowly released his furious grip. Her lips ached from his over powering strength, and she wanted to scream at the intruder. But she dared not. They watched a figure moving in the pale moonlight.
The dark figure hobbled toward the corral, then slipped inside and maneuver between the mules. The animals showed no signs of alarm, as they would of a stranger. It could only be one.
"Yazzie," Dodge murmured in a barely audible whisper.
Tory matched his sound. "What's he doing?"
"Just checking."
They watched in silence as the figure moved purposefully to one particular mule, stuffed something into one saddlebag, and left.
"Dodge, he didn't check all the mules. Only one."
"I don't know, Tory. Maybe he was packing more of those wolf-breath cigars he smokes."
"Why would he hide them?" She shook her head. "Yazzie acts strange to me. Let's go look and see what he put in the saddlebag."
"Why?"
"Don't you want to know what Yazzie was doing out there this time of night?"
"They're his mules, Tory, and he can do whatever he wants to with them. What's wrong with you?"
She sighed and leaned her back against a tree trunk, trying to regain her equilibrium after the scare. "Tonight at supper, Yazzie seemed to say everything he could to discourage us going on this search for gold."
"Apparently, he feels it's futile. That doesn't mean anything, though. Lots of people would probably agree with him."
"But, Dodge, you said Yazzie sometimes brings in gold dust for trade. So he must know of gold somewhere up here. Maybe he doesn't want it found."
"That's crazy." The clouds slid aside to reveal a full moon, and Tory could see Dodge's face clearly angry in the pale glow. "What are you getting at, Tory?"
"I don't know . . ."
"Look, Yazzie is just a loner. A solitary mountain man, that's all. Don't try to figure him out, because you never will."
Tory bent her knees up and propped her arms on them. "Dodge, you remember what we talked about on the way up here, about maybe Sharkey was m
urdered?"
"I said it was possible, not probable. Look, Tory, why don't you just forget that conversation? It wasn't based on fact, just our rambling speculation."
"I can't forget anything that serious, Dodge. As we were sitting around tonight, eating cake and discussing Sharkey's gold, it occurred to me that everyone here has a possible motive for wanting my father dead. And for wanting all his gold."
"That's absolutely ridiculous, Tory! You mean, everyone except you and me, don't you? Or aren't you so sure about me? Is that it?"
She moved forward on her knees and gripped his muscled arms. "No, of course not, Dodge! Not you!"
He tore away from her grasp. "Then don't accuse anyone here of murder, Tory. These people are my friends, even though you think they might be murder suspects. They were Sharkey's friends, too. I'll thank you not to look at us with suspicion."
"Oh, Dodge, I didn't mean to—"
"I know what you meant." He was on his feet and angry. She could tell by his tight, abrupt tone that she'd pushed too hard.
"Please, Dodge, listen to me." She zipped her jeans and followed him. "What if—"
"I don't want to hear your doubts about my friends."
She put her hand on his arm. "But, Dodge, even you said it could happen."
He wheeled around and grabbed her arms with both hands. "Listen to me, Tory. As far as we know, Sharkey wasn't murdered. Put that notion out of your head. I don't want to hear any more about it."
She looked at his furious countenance, glowering in the moonlight. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay, Dodge, sorry. I'll forget it." For now, she promised silently.
He held her gaze a moment longer, and released her with a jerk. "I think we'd better go to bed now. Alone."
Silently, she accompanied him back to the porch, longing for his kiss, for his love, yet knowing they would not be hers tonight. She had ignited his fury by revealing her distrust of his friends. And potentially, of him.
Not you, Dodge, she prayed when he left her in angry silence. Please, not you!
Tory scrambled into her sleeping bag. Ramona was asleep, or pretended to be. Tory scooted inside the warm folds and lay there a long time, thinking about Yazzie and wondering what he did in the corral tonight. And what connection, if any, he had to Sharkey Carsen's death.
She shifted and snuggled drowsily against the tiny pillow, wishing it were Dodge's substantial shoulder. Her lips still tingled from the strength of his kisses and the power of his hand clamped across them. But her body ached with unsatisfied longing for the cowboy whose loving had become addictive in only one night.
And she prayed that her suspicions were wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Early the next morning the string of mules headed out single file, taking the sun seekers deep into the Dragoon Mountains of southern Arizona. As they moved further from civilization Tory was engulfed with a feeling of isolation, of being away from any safe, familiar environment. There she was, alone in uncharted territory, perhaps to be a victim of the mountain, as was her father.
Whether or not he was murdered, she couldn't know. Not yet, anyway. However, Sharkey still was a victim of his search for gold. And there she was, searching for that same gold. She could only hope the sheer numbers of the group would keep them safe. But with her new suspicions, could she trust them? Only Dodge, maybe. . .
As the day wore on, Tory began to adapt to the slow-plodding surefootedness of the mule she was riding and settled into a comfortable rocking motion. The sights and smells of the wilderness seemed to permeate her, and she grew to enjoy the constant rustle of wind through the pines and take delight in the occasional rabbit they sent scampering.
Yazzie led the way with one pack mule, followed by Rex, Ramona, and Tory. Dodge brought up the rear, adeptly managing two pack mules loaded with picks, camping equipment, and food. His mule carried the Indian jar with Sharkey's ashes. At first the group rode along in relative silence. Perhaps it was because they didn't know—or trust—one another very well. Tory assumed that, like her, each member carried the secret hope that on the return trip they'd be loaded with gold.
Dodge was conspicuously tight-lipped and non-communicative. He had very little to say to Tory, and she knew she had precipitated his actions. Obviously, he was still angry over her voiced suspicions, and with the alleged suspects in such close proximity, they had no chance to hash it out. Maybe she had been out of line in her doubts. Maybe she was totally wrong.
At any rate, she'd had no opportunity to apologize. But she intended to. She hadn't intended to alienate Dodge. Out here, he was her only ally.
Tory and Ramona rode together for most of the day. They talked sporadically about their individual careers and ambitions. Tory learned that Ramona was an avid amateur anthropologist, specializing in the Indian groups that lived in this area of southwestern Arizona. She spent all her spare time in the mountains searching for artifacts and remnants of ancient settlements and had documented many sites that were previously unknown to modern society. Tory found Ramona to be an intelligent, interesting person.
The sun seekers halted for a meager lunch of canned beans and sandwiches. Tory perched beside Ramona on a log. "It's just too good to be true," she muttered.
"What's that?"
"Oh, this crazy mission to find gold way up here."
Ramona smiled knowingly. "It's here, all right. Men have been digging for it—and finding it—for hundreds of years. Now it's just a matter of us discovering the right place."
"You sound like Dodge," Tory chided. "What makes you so sure?"
"I know what I've always heard about these mountains. And I trust Sharkey."
"Well, that's more than I can say," Tory muttered.
"It's too bad you never knew your father. He was a man you could trust, Tory."
"My mother couldn't trust him. Neither could I. But you," she paused, thinking of years of struggling. "You had a different kind of relationship with him, Ramona. Obviously, you made no demands on him, not like a wife and child did."
Ramona lifted her dark head and smiled sadly. She had a certain kind of graceful, proud beauty, with a slight tilt to her brown eyes. "Oh, I tried, but Sharkey was an elusive man. I wanted security as much as any woman does. I loved him and wanted marriage, but Sharkey didn't want that kind of commitment. It just didn't work for him."
Tory looked at Ramona with new respect, and strangely, her heart went out to this "other woman." Ramona was another woman Sharkey had hurt, and Tory couldn't help wondering how many others there were. "How long did you go with my father?"
"You mean, how long were we lovers?" Ramona asked bluntly. She gazed into the distance and muttered, "Almost ten years. You'd think in that length of time that a person would know if he loved someone enough to make a commitment."
"Apparently, Sharkey wasn't the type of man who could make a commitment," Tory said with finality as she finished her sandwich. It was more painful than she realized to hear another woman talk about intimacy with her father. Secretly, she had wanted him to be as unhappy and lonely as her mother had been.
She realized that was foolish, the child in her crying out for fairness and revenge. Then it occurred to her that maybe the adult in her wanted a share of fairness and revenge, also. Undoubtedly, she was getting a different picture of Sharkey Carsen and his relationships with women.
After the brief lunch break, the string of mules moved out again, taking the small group higher above the desert floor. As the afternoon heat swelled, dark clouds formed a canopy overhead and a thunderstorm threatened. Finally, Yazzie called a halt. "We'll spread a tarp between those trees until the storm is over."
"Oh, no, not here!" Ramona objected, an unusual shrillness to her voice.
"What's wrong, Ramona?" Tory leaned forward in her saddle, concerned by the woman's sudden change. She looked visibly upset.
Yazzie answered for her. "Over there," he said, pointing through the trees to an abrupt cliff dangerously close to the path they followed
. "That's where we found Sharkey." He slid off his mule and ambled to the edge, motioning to the others. Rex and Dodge quickly joined him, and the three men began discussing the location of Sharkey's demise.
Tory could see that Ramona was distraught and remained with her on the trail. Suddenly, the wind whipped vigorously around them, creating a high whining through the pines. A mournful whine, mourning a place of death.
Ramona reacted hysterically. "I can't go through this again. I have to get out of here!" She dropped the reins of the mule she was riding, slid off its back, and ran distractedly through the woods.
"Hey, Ramona!" Dodge yelled and started after her. "Come back here! It's going to rain soon!"
Tory grabbed his arm. "Let me try, Dodge. I think I can talk to her."
"She needs a friend right now," he rebuffed, emphasizing 'friend'.
Tory considered his curt comment for a moment. "Maybe I can qualify. I think she needs another woman right now."
"You may be right, but hurry. We're going to have a severe storm, and it isn't safe for either of you."
Tory nodded and dashed after Ramona through the pines. Not far away, she found the distraught woman slumped to the ground beneath the shelter of a pine tree.
"Ramona, it's just me," Tory began tentatively. "Are you all right?"
Ramona gazed up, a vacant expression on her still-pale face. "I'm okay, Tory. Just a little shaky, that's all."
The wind whipped around them and whined through the trees. The smell of moisture was in the air, warning of the pending rain.
Tory moved closer. "I know you're upset because of Sharkey. The others are worried about you."
Ramona clamped her arms tightly around her knees and rocked back and forth. "A strange sensation came over me, Tory. I could see him lying down there, just like it were real all over again. Total recall of the sights and feelings. God, it was strange. I wanted to scream and run, anything to get rid of those awful feelings."
"You've been through a lot, Ramona. It was quite a shock. Your feelings for Sharkey run deep —I can see that."
Ramona smiled wanly at Tory. "I was always taught to hide my feelings, not to let them show. To be stoic and strong. And I always have, until now."
Callahan's Gold (Southwest Desert Series Book 3) Page 9
