Sundown

by Jade Laredo

  “I-I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

  Suddenly, he grasped her hips and pressed himself against her with an alarming need. She could feel his urgency as he shifted his weight. Hovering above her, he paused while his throbbing shaft rubbed against her thigh.

  “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this you want?”

  “Please.” She gasped.

  It was the longest few seconds she would ever experience. If the sound of silence could tell all truth, she was certain her innocence left him in turmoil. Yet, she knew he wanted her.

  “Forgive me.”

  Before she could fathom his regret, he plowed into her with a full force passion. The pain was instant, yet brief, and for a moment, he was still. Then slowly he began to move, a wicked rhythm, which soon, she followed. Their tempo grew wild with frenzy until she felt as if each star in the heavens came crashing down. Lost in the tumult of her passion, she heard him cry out, seemingly dying the same slow death as he, floating upwards, hovering, and sated. The serenity was unspeakable, incomparable. Then in that moment she heard his voice, constricted, hoarse, and painfully quiet.

  “Look what you’ve done.”

  “What did I do?”

  “What no other woman has ever done.”

  She heard the defeat in his timber voice. He then whispered warmly against her ear. “You’ve marked me.”

  Grabbing her fingers, he easily forced her to touch the boundaries of his face. Once more, she felt the same contours of his unmistakable features, but this time she felt strangely dissatisfied.

  “I want to see you.”

  “I’ll not make you an accessory.”

  “Aren’t you a bit too late?”

  His voice returned to normal. “Miss Gentry, behave.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “It must do for now.” He returned, losing his patience. With one powerful swoop, she was helpless in his arms. No match for his incredible strength, she waited while he pulled her skirts back down over her hips.

  “You’ve no idea the dangers you’re putting yourself in.”

  “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” He said, touching her face, he tugged on the bandanna, making sure the blindfold was secure.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  “Knew what?” He struggled with his voice.

  “I’d never see your face.”

  Though she could not see him, she could sense his disquiet. She waited as he slowly mulled over her accusation. Finally, he returned quietly.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  He did not answer. Instead, she felt his warmth as he drew her near. His iron-like arm melded around her waist, and she felt him rest his chin atop her head. He stroked away the wet hair matted against her face and kissed her forehead.

  “Yes, it’s true.” He sighed. Clearing his voice, he continued. “You’re in danger by associating with me and I’d rather not see one hair harmed on your head. If I were a decent man living an ordinary life, I’d drag you to the nearest preacher and if necessary, kicking and screaming.”

  “I think you’re a decent man.”

  “Impossible.” He groaned, pushing her away. “I’d never be able to give you a valid name.”

  “I’ll find you.”

  He chuckled at her bravery and then fell silent. After a long moment, he suddenly turned strained. There was an edge to his voice as if he knew something she did not.

  “Even if you did my standing would never change. I would still be a wanted outlaw with a noose waiting for my neck. You are a good woman. You deserve so much more, a white house with a picket fence, a handful of children at your feet and a decent man to warm your bed.”

  Arabella wanted to tell him he was wrong.

  She wanted to believe he had no idea the influence she had to help him out of his troubles. Then reality crept in, and grabbed hold of her conscience. Deep down she knew he was right. With that thought, she silently cried herself to sleep.

  The next morning, she found herself alone. Indeed, the outlaw had deserted her. She wanted desperately to believe he was coming back for her, but once midday arrived, her hopes had dwindled.

  Standing on a small knoll, she turned at least a dozen times in every direction. There was absolutely nothing, as far as the eye could see. All she had to survive was a small lake and a copse of trees, and the sense God gave her to stay put, and wait for rescue. She trudged back to a nearby tree and sat dejectedly in its shade. Still gripping his bandanna in her hand, she lifted the material to her mouth and breathed in his faint scent. Instantly, she imagined the night before. She shivered, remembering the heat of his probing mouth, his gentle hand caressing her breasts and the wondrous sensation of soaring among the stars.

  Coming to her senses, she stared down at her chafed wrists. Rubbed raw she almost wanted to laugh. At least he was thoughtful enough to unbind her wrists before abandoning her to the wild.

  She heard it then, against the wind, the faraway pounding of horse’s hooves. With heart racing, she jumped to her feet. A few hundred yards away, a lone rider cantered toward her with an extra mount in tow. She could tell by the lazy way the man rode in the saddle he was not her outlaw lover. Disappointed, she waited warily as the rider drew near, wondering if she should trust the stranger at all.

  “Ma’am.” A middle-aged man with kind eyes, and a graying beard greeted her. “My name is Cecil Bertram. Got word you needed some help.”

  “Is that right?” She asked. Pursing her lips, she cut him a wooden smile. “How expedient.”

  “My wife and I, we are caretakers of an orphanage not too far from here. This morning I found a note attached to my front door with a sizable donation. The note mentioned you were in distress and needed some assistance.”

  Arabella found it hard to say anything at all.

  Instead, she nodded her head as a sudden uneasy feeling gnawed at her stomach while slowly making its way to her chest.

  She knew she would never see him again.

  “You got any folks?” Cecil continued with his quizzical stare pitying her disheveled appearance. Though the man saddled before her could have guessed her delicate predicament, he had no idea of the irony of her situation. The sound of Luke’s silky voice echoed in the back of her mind.

  I will not make you an accessory …

  Arabella tilted her head. Cupping her hand above her brow, she strained her eyes and withdrew a long heavy sigh.

  “My father is Wyeth Gentry.” Her voice took on a hardedge. “He’s the Sheriff of some godforsaken place called Sundown.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Coffee’s ready.”

  Wyeth Gentry propped his hand against his forehead, while his household cook, Lena Talltree placed another cup of coffee in front of him. She watched guardedly as he ran a nervous hand through his unruly mane. When he looked toward the ceiling, she caught the rush of emotions, which crossed his handsome face. To her, the reflection was nothing less than remorse.

  “Thank you, Lena.” He garbled.

  Across the table, Doctor Parker Hiram sipped from his tin, while eyeing Lena with appreciation. Plump and middle-aged, the Indian woman nodded her head, and smiled back at him.

  “You want another cup, Doc?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “All right then,” Lena nodded. “Would you like a cinnamon bun to go with your coffee?”

  “I swan, but every time I pay a visit you try to fatten me up with your delicacies.” Doc lamented using his most charming southern drawl. Tugging on a gray goatee, the old man smiled. Pushing his cup forward, he waited while she filled to the rim.

  Lena clucked her tongue and shook her head. Putting a hand on her hip, she dropped her chin and issued the physician a playful sharp-eyed glare.

  “I daresay the huge appetite of yours has any objections.”

  Doc ch
uckled.

  “I should head out.” Wyeth murmured oblivious to their lighthearted prattle. “Wade’s waiting for me at the jailhouse. I suppose after what happened yesterday folks in town have many questions that need some answering.”

  “I doubt that hotheaded deputy of yours can hold down the fort by himself without causing some sort of raucous.” Doc graveled. “You best get on down there and set those yokels straight. If you ask me, townsfolk only need to know what is important. Your daughter is safe and sound.”

  “Thank God.” Lena chimed in, placing a china plate in front of him, loaded with a gooey cinnamon bun.

  “Good morning.”

  At the start of her voice, all three turned to find Arabella standing in the doorway with deadbeat eyes and a sheepish grin.

  Crossing the kitchen floor, she took a seat next to Doc Parker, and lifted her chin.

  “Lena?” She cleared her shaky voice. “May I have some coffee please?”

  “Right away.”

  “Did you sleep well?” Wyeth inquired.

  “Much better than I thought.” She replied, studying her father’s haggard features. “I daresay you did.”

  “None of us did, my dear.” Doc spoke up.

  “I’m sorry.” She murmured. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Wyeth returned. “I’ve been out all-night trekking with a posse.”

  “Any luck?”

  “They got away clean.” Her father’s voice turned stark. “Next time, I don’t think they’ll be so lucky.”

  Arabella glanced down at the table, masking her concern. She was thankful the Shelton gang got away. Ashamed, she bit her lip, and scolded herself for thinking such disloyal notions.

  “Here you go, honey.” Lena piped, trying to head off the conversation with her usual buoyant nature. “I’ve breakfast warming in the oven, its biscuits and gravy for you.”

  Arabella managed a thankful smile.

  Sipping her coffee, she suddenly felt the weight of her father’s green-eyed gaze on her. Finding the courage, she lifted her chin and met with his probing stare. Even now, at forty-five, he was an exceedingly handsome man, tall and bronzed by the years, a thatch of crows-feet etched alongside jaded eyes, like her very own, enhancing the inherent strength of his chiseled face. Though somewhat aloof, she considered her father quite a catch for a lonely woman in a small town such as Sundown. Given this fact, she wondered about his long-term stage of bachelorhood. She supposed his reticence was likely because of her mother’s passing.

  She remembered twelve years before, the day her father packed his saddlebags. Perhaps the pain was too great, or maybe he felt the need for wanderlust. Whatever his reason, her father had abandoned her, leaving her on her Uncle’s front porch while she watched him ride away.

  For years, she yearned for his whereabouts. It was not until after the close of the war she had finally received his letter. How surprised she had been to learn he was a Sheriff, overseeing a small town in Colorado Territory.

  He had expressed his need to reunite, also encouraging her to take on an open position as schoolmistress there. After much thought she decided she had nothing to lose, taking her father up on his offer, she headed west. Finally, months later here she sat staring back at her father with so many questions still unanswered.

  “What’s the matter, Poppa?”

  “I was just thinking you look so much like your mother.”

  Arabella blushed.

  “Flora used to say the same.”

  Wyeth hesitated. Fiddling with his tin, he inquired.

  “How are John, and my sister?”

  “They both are well.” Arabella informed, referring to her Aunt and Uncle Claymore. “Uncle John, he still plows the fields, and Aunt Flora, she and Cousin Aimee head a quilting bee society.”

  For the first time she saw her father smile.

  Beneath an austere façade, she found the devastatingly handsome man she once remembered as a girl. Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he took another swig of coffee, and then stood to his feet.

  “Enjoy your breakfast.” He cut his smile short. Reaching in his pocket, he withdrew a badge, and pinned it to his shirt pocket. “Lena can help you settle in while I’m at the office. We will catch up later. You ready Park?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Doc grumbled, trying to finish his cinnamon bun. He stood to his feet, and then winked at Lena before turning to Arabella. “Young woman, I’ll see you later.”

  After morning breakfast, Arabella sat with Lena, helping unpack and organize her belongings. While doing so, she wisely listened as the older woman coached her about life in Sundown. She learned the town’s population increased just yesterday thanks to her much expected arrival. The tally now stood at three-hundred and eleven, not including those who lived-in the outer lying homesteads within the territory.

  Sundown boasted two saloons, including a gambling hall and one house of impropriety, two rivaling mercantilists, a boardinghouse, a Chinese laundry, a bank, two livery stables, a schoolhouse, a house of worship, a jailhouse which rarely stayed empty, and a post office, telegraph and freight station combined as one. Lena also explained there were twice as many men living in Sundown, as there were women, and just as many children. She smiled when the older woman covertly mentioned the town gossip, Mamie Hartley and her lovely daughter Genevieve who most townsfolk considered the catch of Sundown.

  Arabella tried to soak up as much information as she could before Lena exhausted all her facts. With the last of her clothing put away, she turned to her father’s household help, and posed a forward question.

  “What about your family?”

  Lena stepped back outwardly startled. Her large brown eyes turned somber as she weighed the question. With reticent clarity, she quickly answered.

  “I have a son and daughter.” Lena replied a measure of disquietude suddenly replaced the woman’s usual sunny disposition. “They live among the Cheyenne.”

  Arabella lifted her eyes with surprise.

  She had heard of these indigent people, but only read about them in romantic novellas. Sensing the woman’s sudden unease, she dropped the subject and expelled a sudden yawn.

  “There now, Miss Bella.” Lena shook her head, looking somewhat relieved she need not explain further. “You must rest, you’re still exhausted.”

  “Thank You, Lena.” Arabella placed a hand on the cook’s dress sleeve. “You’ve been such a big help. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Lena chuckled. “Your Poppa says the very same.”

  Slowly, the riders approached, bearing a steady canter. The leader draped in a floor-length slicker camouflaged himself in black from head to toe. Tall and seemingly precarious, he dismounted with careful precision, surveying his surroundings before motioning his party to dismount as well.

  She hovered there shivering in a sheer night rail like a sallow ghost, watching the vigilant men circle the stagecoach. In unison, they stepped forward. The clang of silver spurs catching against the hard-packed earth echoed beneath heavy footsteps.

  Like a flash of lightening, her mind instantly knew what waited for them in the stagecoach. Though she felt weak, as if her essence withered away, the fear that gripped her heart gave her a newfound strength. Bursting forward, she screamed at the top of her lungs, warning them to turn away. To her dismay, she found they did not listen. Alarmed the end was near she knew she only had one more chance before it was too late.

  “No!” She cried. To her astonished surprise, her own voice sounded like a banshee’s wail rushing wild upon the wind. “For God Sake, please go back!”

  He stopped then, and slowly turned.

  From behind his makeshift swathe, she sought his sea-spent eyes. They drew narrow, searching for that source of wisdom, which beckoned to his core. She watched his indulgent gaze harden when he realized what he thought he had heard was only the teasing wind. Though his mouth did not move, she
heard his thoughts loud and clear.

  This is the last time, I promise you.

  She saw him then, another man dressed in black, his face she could see was all too familiar. The smile, which perched upon his lips, was of sheer pleasure, like a cunning fox outwitting his prey.

  Slowly, the menacing man reached for his gun.

  It took only one-shot.

  With his back turned, the silver bullet knocked the outlaw to the ground. In return, the other two riders whipped out their guns and shot their gang leader’s assailant. Two men lie on the dust-ridden road, one instantly dead, while the other quietly still as his life bled away.

  “No!” She cried frantically. Hovering above his motionless frame, he lied there like a crumpled scarecrow. The bandanna, which covered his face, slowly slipped from his chin, revealing the rugged outline of his face. He was beautiful just as she had imagined …

  “Bella.”

  She heard the concerned voice, whispering to her.

  There was a gentle pull at her sleeve, and then she felt a hand caress her brow. Again, she heard her name. She knew the voice, gentle like a bear it beckoned to her.

  “Poppa?” She whispered. Fluttering her eyes open, she awoke with a breathless start. The room was dark, and she could see the moon rising through her bedroom window. Disoriented, she quickly arose from her resting position.

  “It’s all right, honey.” He whispered. “You were having a bad dream.”

  Arabella took a deep breath.

  “Nightmare.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  She had not experienced a dream like that, not since Edwin’s death. With that sudden thought, she vaguely remembered his beatific face, that of a boy, barely a man. With the long ago memory she now recognized she was no longer a child, but a woman. Luke did this for her. He made her into a woman, his woman.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.” She replied. “I’d rather not.”