The Renegades: Cole

by Dellin, Genell

  “Stubborn,” he muttered, but he let it drop.

  They explored the canyon for several miles each way, disturbing rabbits and birds. They listened to the calling of crows and the whistle of a cardinal, saw the tracks of deer and turkey in the sand near the river, rode until the sun was directly overhead and then past, hardly talking because the high walls hemming them in and the soothing rustle of the cottonwood leaves in the wind made them feel they had entered the very heart of the earth. At least, that’s how it felt to Aurora. The changing light played on the greens of the grasses and the junipers and all the other trees, turned some of the reds on the walls to purples and lavenders, whitened the cottonwood leaves.

  Spring. The greens were spring greens—all of the canyon was alive, bursting with spring. All of it called to her, filled up her senses, yet set her yearning for more. This place was meant to be her home.

  Cole was feeling that same pull to the earth.

  “If a man was ever going to settle down, this would surely be the place,” he said as they stopped and got down to drink from the main stream of the river, which was running over rocks—clear water, fine as the air.

  And then, before Aurora could begin to sort out the feelings those words roused in her, he quickly tried to recall them. Or deny them. Or something.

  “I never will settle, though,” he said, and drank from the cold water he scooped up in his hand.

  A whole gamut of emotions swirled through her, with a stinging anger on top. He had to say that—as if she could pounce on one, unguarded remark of his and use it to rope him and tie him down. As if she would.

  “Some people don’t,” Aurora said coolly. “And say they can’t.”

  She bit her lip. She had not meant to say that, had not meant to answer.

  “How do you know what another person can do?”

  Gabriel threw them a curious glance, responding to the undercurrents in their voices.

  “A person can do whatever he or she wants to do or has to do,” she said and finished her own drink, stood up, and turned away.

  Let him wander the face of the earth for the rest of his life, for all she cared.

  Aurora walked away from the men and the horses drinking from the river and looked up at the marvelous walls of the gorge. A great sense of happiness flowed up through all the feelings churning in her, a sense of powerful rightness. This was her new ranch. Next, the best place for the headquarters would have to reveal itself.

  She found it an hour later as they rode up the north bank of the creek, back to within eyesight of the winding Indian trail that they’d taken down into the canyon, the only entrance they had found in their hours of exploring.

  “Here,” she said. “Stop here.”

  It was a beautiful spot, a perfect cove in the side of the gorge, wrapped securely by the high walls, watched over by junipers and cotton-woods, watered by the creek that within a stone’s throw flowed into one coming from the south and began to swell into the river. Home. This would be her home.

  The three of them dismounted and walked around under the canopy of trembling leaves, thinking of protection from the snow and cold, from the sun and wind, from intruders. They could find no fault.

  Gabriel led the horses away to be watered again before they began the long climb up and out to go bring back the herd and the cowboys.

  “We’ll put the headquarters buildings like this,” Aurora said, pacing back and forth, trying to see the whole setting at once. “The house over there so that one huge cottonwood can be in the front yard, the first barn a hundred yards to the south …”

  “That’ll work,” Cole said.

  He sounded completely noncommittal, as if he could care less. And he sounded abruptly impatient, as if he wanted to cut her off.

  She turned to look at him.

  He stood with one leg bent, his boot heel against the trunk of a mulberry tree, his long, powerful body all hipshot and loose in that way he had of looking relaxed and wary at the same time. In that way that never failed to make the center of her womanhood contract deep inside her, that way that made her yearn to beckon him to come to her so she could watch that panther’s prowl searching her out as his prey.

  Her breath caught in her throat. He stared off into the blue distance of the sky over the south wall of the gorge, one thumb hooked into his belt, his hat pushed to the back of his head. The sunlight slanted in beneath the leaves to limn his high cheekbones and the curve of his lips, showed his face so darkly handsome that it broke her heart.

  He wasn’t looking at the house site. And he was nowhere near relaxed. He was waiting. Waiting to be gone from her.

  “Well, fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  She would help him get his job done as soon as possible if that was what he wanted.

  That would be best for her, too. She needed him to be gone.

  Without another glance at him, she walked toward the horses. He couldn’t settle in one place, no matter what she had told him earlier. It was his nature to drift, as it was for so many other men. He would never change.

  He would never stay.

  But then why did she have that feeling of being connected to him, a feeling even stronger than her feeling for this valley?

  Chapter 15

  “Palo Duro,” Gabriel said as they topped the rim and sat their horses to let them blow.

  He gestured down toward the beautiful, wild valley they had just left. “Se llamo Palo Duro.”

  So it had a name. She didn’t know what palo meant, and she was in no mood to ask Cole for a translation, but duro meant hard. That was good. She needed to be a “hard girl,” as Cookie sometimes called her when she wouldn’t listen to him and do what he wanted, to match her new home.

  She had to be a hard girl to survive and run a ranch on her own. It scared her how much she had come to depend on Cole.

  It took them three days back to the herd and then nearly seven returning to the Palo Duro, letting the cattle graze slowly along the way to preserve the gains they had made while resting on the Canadian. The men of the crew were consumed with curiosity, Cole with his thoughts, Gabriel with satisfaction, and Aurora with the search for her old, independent, self-reliant self. She urgently needed to be that woman again.

  But, one early morning, when they rode the last couple of miles from where they’d left two men with the herd, rode up onto the rim of the great gorge once more and looked down into the valley, the sight of it captured her as it had done the first time, and she felt strong and suddenly able to do anything. This land gave her strength, somehow, as if it were home to powerful spirits, Indian spirits, spirits of the canyon itself, from the past. She looked at Cole.

  “This place is a gift from God,” she said. “It’s perfect for me.”

  He raised one black eyebrow.

  “Nothing’s perfect.”

  “This is,” she said.

  “My stubborn Rory.”

  She turned to face him, full of fury, but she kept her voice low so the men wouldn’t hear.

  “Don’t call me that! I’m not yours.”

  He gave her such a calm, appraising look that she almost thought he’d been testing her in some way. What did he expect? For her to throw herself into his arms crying that she was his and to do with her what he wanted for however long he would deign to stay with her?

  Well, that would be a July day when the river froze over in the Palo Duro Canyon. She was staying away from him for what little time they had left.

  But a chill ran through her. When would that be? It might be less time than she even thought. Would he help them get the cattle down into the valley’s grass and then go on his way that evening? At dawn the next day?

  Without another word, he turned away and began riding along the canyon’s rim. But he was looking over the canyon again, that was all. He didn’t have his bedroll or the rest of his gear.

  The men of the Slash A crew were riding along the rim, too, awed and excited about their new home. Oh
, dear God, if only it would be their home, if only all of them would stay! She couldn’t build this ranch alone, but with their loyal help she could.

  They were all she needed. The crew and Cookie and Gabriel and her own fierce determination. At least she was here, safe, and Gates might even be in jail. Even if he weren’t, he’d never find her in this canyon.

  In a few minutes, Cole came riding back.

  “What’s next, Boss?” he said.

  “Let’s go on in while they go back for the cattle.”

  “That’ll work,” he said.

  “Monte, when you get back here look for me at the bottom of this trail,” she said. “I’ll probably be waving you in. We’ll bring the remuda in first, then the herd, and then we’ll figure out what to do about the wagons.”

  “Wagons’ll have to stay on top,” Monte joked.

  Aurora grinned back at him.

  “Limber up your rope,” she said. “And your muscles. Looks like the wagons’ll have to go down a piece at a time.”

  “Aw, this here’s the land of milk and honey. We won’t need the flour and beans and cookin’ pots in there.”

  “Keep on dreaming,” she said. “I’ll wake you up when Cookie comes rattling up here onto the rimrock.”

  Monte laughed and gave her a little salute as he rode back to gather his men for the last, short leg of the long, long drive.

  Then, for the second time, she, Cole, and Gabriel rode down the winding, switchback path worn into the earth so long ago by unshod hooves and moccasined feet. They talked very little—somehow all the words had dried up.

  They found the place she’d picked for headquarters undisturbed and the canyon, at least in this section, uninhabited, as before. Aurora rode back past the bottom of the trail in the other direction with Cole not far behind her.

  “I think head the cattle down this way and keep pushing them on to that grass,” she said, pointing out a long meadow past a grove of willow trees. “The wagons we’ll set up at headquarters and the remuda, too, until we can string a rope corral or find them a box canyon.”

  Cole nodded agreement. They went back to the cove she’d picked for her house site and began building a small fire for the coffeepot Cookie had sent on ahead tied to Aurora’s saddlebags.

  “He’s determined not to let his reputation for constantly hot coffee suffer just because it’ll take hours to lower the chuck wagon and get the supplies down here,” she said.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t give us orders to shoot a deer, skin it out, and put it to cooking on a spit,” Cole said, “so he could give the crew a hot meal, too.”

  Aurora grinned at him. That just sounded so good, all of a sudden, that careless camaraderie in his voice. It had not been there for days.

  Oh, Lord, she was going to miss him.

  “He did ask me if we heard any bobwhites in the canyon,” she said, “but I rode out of there before he could lend me his shotgun.”

  Cole laughed, and the warmth of the sound spread through her. Their eyes met and held.

  “You’ll have to watch it, or Cookie will have you hunting meat instead of bossing this ranch,” he said.

  You.

  He broke the look, stood up, and paced restlessly around a small willow tree to glance toward the trail.

  “They’d better get moving,” he said. “This’ll take all day and then some.”

  “How come you’re in such a hurry?”

  The question popped out against her will, but now it was there, hanging in the air between them.

  “I’ve got places to go,” he growled, and strode off toward the river.

  He didn’t come back and didn’t come back and it seemed like an age to Aurora before the wind brought the noises of the herd and Monte’s shrill signal from the rim. Cole came back and swung up onto his horse at the first whistle.

  Yes, he was desperate to get out of there.

  Aurora mounted and followed him to the foot of the trail. And she was desperate for him to go. Much more of this tension, and she’d fly into a million pieces.

  If you’re so eager to leave, then go. You’ve done the job I hired you for. Go, Cole, get away from me.

  But she didn’t say it. She just rode behind him, her gaze on his broad shoulders and his easy seat in the saddle, her thoughts and feelings swirling in tangled profusion. Anything could happen today. Anything could happen tomorrow. Cole might decide to stay.

  Or he might not.

  Monte and Frank came down first, with Newt driving the remuda right behind them to give the cattle something to follow. They all paused at the top, and then the horses started picking their way, single file, down the narrow trail, all of them beautiful in the sunlight, their brown and bay and black and sorrel hides shining against the red-yellow wall of the earth. As the first horse reached the valley floor, Old Brindle started down the path.

  One by one, the cattle came, horns bobbing up and down, trusting that they weren’t going into danger, trusting that there’d be grass and water ahead of them somewhere. They were beautiful, too—and they were her whole future, because there wouldn’t be any other way to make a living at the bottom of the Palo Duro.

  They had gained a lot of weight while resting on the Canadian, and they looked good. They looked healthy. There were plenty of cows and several bulls for growing the herd and quite a few calves, younger ones following their mamas and bigger ones mixed in with the yearling and two-year-old beeves. She would sell those when they got to be great big three- and four-year-old beeves, which they were certain to do on the grass in this valley.

  A wave of joy and thankfulness came over her. She was so fortunate that God had sent Gabriel Martinez and that she’d had the sense to believe his tall tale.

  The cattle kept coming. It took over three hours—and she and Cole were riding with Monte and Frank, pushing the new arrivals onto the meadow before they were all down—but the chain of cattle taking the trail one by one never broke for an instant. The men on top handled them superbly, never letting one turn back, not making any sudden moves that might spook them. Finally, her heart swelling with pride, Aurora saw the last head come off the trail. Her new ranch was stocked with a fine herd of cattle.

  Tears stung her eyes. She’d had a lot of help, vital help, but she’d been the boss. She had made the decisions. And she’d done it. She’d brought these cattle to Texas. Now she knew she could do anything.

  Even let Cole go?

  She ignored the small voice inside her and tried not to think as Cole rode Border Crossing up to her at a trot.

  “Now the wagons,” he said briskly.

  Her heart turned over. He was in a tearing hurry to leave.

  “It won’t be dark for hours,” Aurora snapped, setting her gaze on the cattle so she wouldn’t have to see his handsome face. “You don’t have to rush around as if your head is on fire!”

  She could feel his eyes on her profile, but she wouldn’t turn and look at him. Finally she did. He was puzzled, he had no idea what had brought about that outburst from her.

  It was gone. For miles and miles and many days they had read each other’s minds and feelings, they had been so close. Now that was gone.

  At least on his side, it was. She could still read him. She could tell perfectly well that he wanted nothing more than to be out of this canyon and far, far away.

  She kneed Shy Boy around and rode to the bottom of the trail, started him climbing.

  “Good idea,” Cole said from behind her. “You can supervise the unloading and …”

  “You have no earthly idea why I’m going up there or what I plan to do when I get there! So just don’t be trying to tell me!”

  He laughed.

  “What’s put such a burr under your saddle?”

  “If you don’t know, then it’d do no good to tell you.”

  He laughed again, making her frustration soar.

  “That makes a lot of sense.”

  “As much as anything you say.”


  She sat straight as a ramrod as Shy Boy started climbing up the trail. She forced her body to relax enough to fall into rhythm with his. Cole was right behind her—even if she didn’t hear Border’s hoofbeats, she would feel them there.

  “Rory …”

  “And don’t call me that! You have no right!”

  What in the name of heaven was the matter with her? Her heart was beating like a hammer in her chest, her face felt flushed and hot. She was suddenly furious at him with a rage she could not control.

  “Turn around,” he said. “I’m gonna take you back and dunk you in the creek. You’re the one with your head on fire.”

  She refused to turn and look at him.

  “Try it,” she said, between teeth clenched so hard her jaw hurt, “just you try to dunk me in the creek. You’ve dunked me for the last time, Cole McCord.”

  Oh, the sound of his name—the shape of his name in her mouth made her wild. This was purely loco, the way she was feeling. She had to get hold of herself. It was nothing but sensual pleasures that attracted her to him, that was all, and her life would be too full from now on for such foolishness.

  “Aw, remember how much fun we had the first time we ended up in the river,” he drawled. “We’ll do it again. Be ready.”

  “I am ready,” she snapped. “Come on, if you dare. Right now I could whip the entire Llano full of comancheros with nothing but a quirt and my bare hands.”

  He burst out laughing, a true belly laugh this time.

  “If you had a quirt, it wouldn’t be with your bare hands.”

  She turned in the saddle to fix him with a withering glare.

  “Yes, it would. If they had guns and knives.”

  His face was so gorgeous when he laughed. It made him irresistible. It made him so sweet and so sexy, both at once, that she could not bear it.

  She hated him for going away. She’d like to take a quirt to him.

  “Stubborn Aurora,” he said, sobering, then giving her that devilish, crooked grin of his, “since I’m not allowed to say ‘my’ or ‘Rory.’ ”

  That was so ridiculous it made her smile. And just that motion of her mouth cooled the worst heat of her fury, made her want to cry, made her ache to be in his arms.