A Land Called Deseret

by Janet Dailey

  "Ready?" Travis gave her a sidelong look.

  "Yes." She flashed him a smile.

  At the slight touch of her heel, the big bay strode out into a canter. The buckskin matched its pace and was loping alongside within seconds. LaRaine marveled at the quickness and agility of her mount, considering its size, as it skirted clumps of tall brush with weaving ease. Shaking back her hair, she let the warm wind blow over her face.

  The ranch buildings were far behind them when the terrain roughened and they were forced to slow their horses. Flushed by the exhilaration of the long canter, LaRaine felt really alive for the first time in weeks. There was a sparkle to her dark eyes and a softness to her mouth. The need to talk was as intense as it had been.

  "Thanks for asking me to come with you, Travis." She was sincere.

  "We still have a long way to ride, and the same distance to cover going back. I only hope you feel the same way at the end of the ride." But he smiled lazily when he voiced his doubt.

  "I'm not worrying about getting stiff and sore." LaRaine shook her head. "I'm bound to be in condition after all the work I've done these last few weeks."

  Travis took the lead up a rock-strewn ridge. As the sun marched higher in the dust-blue sky, the air became heavy with the pungent smell of sage. The broken valley floor sprawled for endless miles, gouged by dry water beds and mounded with small hills. Against the horizon was the backbone of a mountain range, a chipped peak standing out from the rest.

  "I've never seen such empty land," LaRaine commented as Travis slowed the buckskin to a walk and her mount moved forward to walk beside him.

  "It's part of the Great Basin of Utah," he explained. "Thousands of years ago, this was all part of a big inland sea that covered a third of Utah. The Great Salt Lake and Sevier Lake are the salt water remnants of it. A lot of people passed though here on their way to California and Oregon, but the Mormons were the first to settle. They called the land Deseret. It was proposed as the name of the state when it was admitted into the union, but Utah was chosen instead."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I believe it's from the Book of Mormon or the Old Testament. It means 'land of the honeybees.' The beehive is still the state symbol." He shifted into a more comfortable position in the saddle, the leather squeaking at his movement. "You've seen the highway sign in Delta, haven't you? The one referring to the Fort Deseret historical site. It's the remains of an old fort constructed of adobe and straw, built in eighteen short days to protect the local settlers from Indian raids."

  "I remember the sign." She nodded, and looked around at the sprawling emptiness. "I can't imagine why the settlers would ever have wanted to fight the Indians over this land."

  "Don't let the rock hounds hear you say that," Travis smiled dryly.

  "Why?" LaRaine eyed curiously.

  "Topaz Mountain is to the north of here. They say it's covered with deposits of topaz, amber and other gemstones." He studied the land they rode through. "This country has a beauty all its own. It doesn't stun the eye like the splendor of the Rocky Mountains. It's more subtle—slower to make an impression."

  Her gaze swept the wild, rough landscape, sensing its lasting endurance in the tenacious sage and grasses. The gnarled and twisted junipers and piñon pines grew in spite of the aridity of the climate. She came close to understanding what he meant.

  "You may be right," she conceded, but not wholeheartedly.

  "Hold it!" Travis reined in his horse and signaled her to do the same. He was looking to his right, his gaze narrowed alertly. "I wasn't sure we'd catch sight of them," he murmured, a satisfied curve to his mouth.

  "Catch sight of what?" she tried to look around him.

  "There's a band of mustangs." He turned the buckskin and walked it slowly forward. "We won't be able get very close."

  LaRaine could just make out the shapes of grazing horses blending against the backdrop of a brush-covered hill. When they were a hundred yards closer she could see them more clearly.

  "We'd better stop here," Travis suggested.

  "I've never seen a wild horse before," she whispered.

  "They aren't wild in the true sense of the word, not like the deer and buffalo," he explained. "All of these horses are descended from domestic stock, so they're feral—they've gone wild."

  "They aren't as big as I thought they would be." Of the eight horses LaRaine counted, none of them was larger than a good-sized pony.

  "The desert environment has bred them down to a size that can survive in this land." Travis pointed to a knoll near the grazing horses. "There's the stallion."

  LaRaine spotted the mustang instantly. It was poised in alert stance and seemed to be looking directly at them and testing the air for their scent. In the flash of a second the stallion was charging down the hill, neighing an order to his mares. There was a flurry of whirling horses and drumming hooves. Then they had vanished, racing over the hill, manes and tails flying. It took her breath away, the disappointment in their diminutive stature overridden by their wild dash from the threat of man.

  "That was a sight to see," she breathed. "They're protected by law, aren't they?"

  "Yes. It saved the mustang from extinction. The problem now is that the government has to come up with a way to control the mustang population the way they do with deer and buffalo. At the moment they roam pretty much where they please, mostly on federal lands leased by ranchers to graze their cattle. So there's an ongoing controversy between the rancher and mustang supporters. Someday they'll find a compromise." He reined the buckskin around to resume their previous course. "Shall we move on?"

  LaRaine followed—the image of the fleeting mustangs not leaving her mind. They rode in silence for a long time. The red, curling hides of Hereford cattle began to dot the brush, their white faces lowered to the ground to tear at the grasses amidst the sage.

  "I want to check the water hole," said Travis, pointing to the left.

  In unison, they veered to the left. A bawling calf greeted them as they reached the water hole, shaded by a small stand of cottonwoods. The upper half of the water hole had become a mud bog. The calf was up to its belly in the center if the bog. It made a puny attempt to struggle free when they rode up.

  "He's stuck!" LaRaine cast a concerned look at Travis.

  He was already shaking out his coiled lariat. Swinging it once over his head, he snaked it out to let the noose settle accurately over the calf's head. Taking a wrap around the saddle horn, he tightened the rope and turned the buckskin away from the water hole. The rope stretched taut as he began walking away. The calf bawled and struggled against the pressure pulling it to the ground.

  "You're choking it!" LaRaine cried in protest.

  But Travis steadily kept his horse walking, pulling the calf through the mud. The calf's eyes were ringed with white. Determined to rescue the calf from Travis's abuse, LaRaine dismounted and grabbed for the rope.

  "Stop it!" she ordered. "You're hurting it!"

  Pulling against Travis, she tried to give the calf some slack so it could breathe. It was almost to solid ground; she could see it begin to gain footing. Ignoring Travis, she reached out to take the noose off the calf's head. At the same instant, its feet touched hard ground and it panicked, bolting forward into LaRaine before she could move out of the way. She stumbled backward, into the edge of the bog, lost her footing and sat down with gurgling plop; mud oozed everywhere.

  After an initial cry of surprise, she sat in shock. She lifted one mud-covered hand, then the other, and tried to shake her fingers free of the clinging webs of mud. The low, rolling sound of Travis's laughter didn't lessen the rise of her temper.

  "This is all your fault!" she hurled angrily. "I wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't almost killed that calf! I was trying to save it!"

  Travis had dismounted and walked to the edge of the mud. He made absolutely no attempt to disguise his amusement over LaRaine's predicament.

  "Look at me!" she demanded. "Just look a
t me! I'm covered with mud!"

  She tried to stand up, but she couldn't seem to get her legs underneath her. Her boots kept slipping in the mud. Finally she had to put a hand back in the oozing slime for balance.

  "Mud never hurt anybody," Travis declared.

  As she was about to stand up, LaRaine felt a boot against her backside a second before it sent her sprawling forward. She screamed. Only her outstretched arms saved her from getting a faceful of mud, but the rest of her, from chest to toe, was packed with it. When she finally gained her footing she was in a quaking rage. The breadth of his shoulders was shaking with contained laughter. Her feet were weighted down with mud as she dragged herself free of the bog.

  "You'll pay for that!" She stalked forward to confront him and carry out her threat.

  "Why are you angry?" Travis mocked. "I've heard that rich women make special trips to beauty spas for mud baths. You got yours for free."

  LaRaine swung at him, but he ducked and caught her arm. She lost her balance and fell against him, covering his shirt front with her mud. Automatically he circled a supporting arm around her waist, coating his hand and sleeve with mud clinging to her. As she struck at him with her free hand, Travis dodged the blow aimed at his head, causing it to glance off his shoulder.

  Before she could hit at him again, his mouth was swooping down to capture her lips. Stilled by his sudden kiss, LaRaine was momentarily rigid in the iron circle of his arms. The searing fire of his mouth melted her against him, surrendering her to the persuasive pressure he applied. From blinding hate, she went to blazing passion. Primitive tremors quaked through her, bringing an urgency to her response that was more than matched by the devouring hunger of his bruising kiss.

  His hands slid intimately over her body, finding the soft curves beneath their layer of mud. Their touch ignited more fires until she was burning out of control. Her senses seemed to explode with the heat Travis generated. She shaped herself to the hard contours of his length, glorying in the need he echoed. His mouth began exploring her face with rough kisses, sending shivers of delight down her spine when he nibbled at her ear.

  Their desires had flamed into one fire until the downward path of his mouth encountered the mud-covered skin at her throat. Travis lifted his head, wiping mud from his chin and lips with the back of his hand. His dark gaze smoldered over her face as she slowly opened her eyes to look at him. She was weak with wanting him, but the sight of his mud-streaked face made her smile.

  "You look funny," she told him, and lifted her hand to wipe the smear from his face, forgetting that her hand was covered with mud. A wider patch of brown covered his jaw. "Oh!" When she realized what she'd done, LaRaine drew her hand back, covering her mouth to hold back a laugh.

  Travis immediately chuckled at the mud on her lips. "We're a pair now," he declared, and LaRaine found herself laughing.

  She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm almost covered with mud from head to toe. Why am I so happy?" she asked.

  "I don't know," said Travis, but the look in his eye was creating the most wonderful disturbance inside her. "But it's going to be a long, muddy ride back to the ranch…for both of us."

  "Yes," LaRaine sighed, and reluctantly unwound her arms from around him.

  Travis walked her to the bay and helped her into the saddle when her boot kept slipping out of the stirrup. His hand rested for a tantalizing moment on her mud-covered thigh. LaRaine thought he was going to say something when their eyes locked for a breathless second.

  "Ready?" was all he asked.

  "Yes," she nodded, holding the reins in her mud-slick fingers.

  When Travis had mounted, they cantered their horses away from the water hole toward the ranch. It was the most uncomfortable ride LaRaine had ever had, but her heart was singing all the way.

  When they rode up to the barn, Travis said, "You'd better go and shower. I'll take care of the horses."

  LaRaine glanced at his muddied front. "What about you?"

  "I can get by with water from the kitchen sink and clean clothes," he told her.

  Entering the house through the back door, LaRaine undressed on the porch rather than track mud through the house to the bedroom. She went directly into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under its spray. She heard Travis come into the kitchen and the water pressure faded when he turned on the sink taps.

  Cleaned of the mud, LaRaine turned off the shower and stepped out to towel dry. She was humming to herself as she slipped into the gold velour robe hanging on the door hook and zipped up the front of it. Her reflection in the mirror looked aglow with some hidden secret, but she didn't stop to delve into the mysteries of her emotions. She hurried into the kitchen to join Travis.

  At the sight of him, she stopped. Bare-chested, he stood at the sink, bronze muscles rippling as he wiped his hard flesh with a towel. The desire she had known when he held her rekindled, the surging need threatening to buckle her knees. The silence of her bare footed entrance had not warned him of her presence in the room. When Travis turned to reach for the clean shirt draped across a chair back, he saw her, and the almost physical touch of his gaze sent her heart leaping into her throat.

  "Hello, Rainey." His low voice was as caressing as his look.

  LaRaine blinked. "What did you call me?"

  Travis paused, as if unaware he had shortened her name. "Rainey." He picked up his shirt and put it on. "LaRaine doesn't seem to fit you anymore. Do you mind?"

  "No." There was a breathlessness to her answer. "It's just that…I've never had a nickname before."

  "You haven't?" One brow arched.

  "No, at least none that anybody ever called me to my face!" She laughed a trifle self-consciously and looked away.

  Travis had two buttons of his shirt fastened when he stopped to walk across the room to where she stood. He crooked a finger under her chin to lift it and let his gaze run over her face. Elemental needs throbbed between them.

  "Travis," she whispered achingly.

  In the next second she was caught up in his arms to be crushed against his chest. His mouth opened moistly over hers, taking in the softness of her lips in a devouring kiss. LaRaine arched on tiptoes, her hands sliding inside his shirt to freely explore the hard-muscled flesh of his chest and shoulders.

  Her lips parted to permit the full passion of his possessive kiss to claim her. His roaming hands felt the bareness of her skin beneath the robe and sought the same liberties she had. LaRaine trembled as his fingers found the metal clasp of the zipper and her pulse flamed at its release and the first exploring caress of his hands. She felt she would die with the incredible joy of it.

  His mouth burned across her skin to the sensitive hollow of her throat. The loose robe slipped off one shoulder and Travis sensually bit at the ivory perfection it exposed. Her breasts throbbed under his expert massage, their rosy peaks hardened into erotic nubs. Seemingly with one hand at her waist, Travis lifted her feet off the ground, then with a half-muffled groan, he let her slide down until his mouth found her cheek and the lobe her ear.

  "You almost make me forget, Rainey," he murmured thickly.

  It took her a full second to realize what Travis meant. She almost made him forget that woman called Natalie. Suddenly there was a ghost between them, summoned by his voice. The hands that had been clinging to him now strained to elude his embrace. The joy she had felt became pain. Travis overpowered this resistance, but LaRaine refused to be persuaded. At last he let her go.

  Immediately she turned away, zipping up her robe with trembling fingers. It had almost been so beautiful. A tear slipped from her lashes and she hurriedly wiped it away.

  "Gracious, it's lunch time!" Her voice quivered with the artificial remark. "I'll fix you a sandwich."

  "Rainey, I didn't mean—" Travis began curtly.

  In a flash of hurt feelings, she turned on him. "Yes, you did," she accused. "I'm not anybody's stand-in! I never have been and I never will be!"

  A muscle flexed in
his strong jaw. "I never said you were."

  He hadn't needed to say it. Letting her gaze fall, she walked to the refrigerator. "I have some cold roast beef. Is that all right?"

  There was a long silence before he answered. "That will be fine."

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  Chapter Ten

  THE TAN AND WHITE PICKUP crested the rise and the familiar weathered-gray building came into sight. A kind of contentment drifted through LaRaine that they had finally arrived home after a long afternoon in Delta. The groceries were in the back of the truck, perishables stored in an ice chest. Most of the time had been spent waiting with Travis for a pump motor to be repaired.

  Her gaze strayed to Travis. The wind blowing through the open window had ruffled the silver tufts above his ear and her fingers itched to smooth the hair into place. It seemed a liberty she was entitled to take after more than six weeks of almost living with the man. But her hands didn't leave her lap.

  LaRaine hadn't forgotten that mud bath day—nor the crushing discovery that he thought of that Natalie person when he held her, not the glorious ecstasy she felt in his embrace. There hadn't been a repeat of the incident. Joe had unknowingly acted as a deterrent on many occasions since.

  During unguarded moments like these, she would look at him with all the intense longing she kept hidden. In a sense, they lived as intimately as man and wife. She cooked his meals, washed his clothes, cleaned his house, and went shopping in town with Travis at her side. But she wanted the pleasures that went with such a relationship.

  The truck rolled to a stop in front of the house. "Home at last," Travis announced in a tired voice.

  LaRaine pulled her gaze from him before he glanced at her. She didn't want him reading what was in her expression. Opening her door, she stepped down from the cab and her eyes focused on the house. Suddenly she was seeing it as she had for the first time, paint blistered away to expose the boards, a shabby old house.