Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  He could feel the heat of her body. She didn’t even weigh all that much. Not enough to cause a sweat to break out. He blamed the sun. Her silence had him imagining that she was furious with him. He spared a thought to trying to apologize but knew she would never believe him. He didn’t believe he was sorry for what he did.

  Faith braced herself with her hands resting gingerly above the sweat-damp shirt on the small of his back. His body was warm where it pressed against hers, and she inhaled the faint scent of lye soap from his clothes. She knew that Delaney was hard. Hardheaded. Hard-hearted. Now she knew how hard his body was.

  Her jaw ached with her effort to remain silent. She was not going to cause another scene that would be spread as gossip. She couldn’t have her name bandied about at all.

  Concentrating on watching the little dust clouds that he raised with every step, Faith vowed her revenge. Somehow, big as he was, she would make him pay not only for this embarrassment of being carried like a sack of flour, but for costing her the chance to leave Prescott quickly.

  A little voice warned her that if the rumors about him were all true, his retribution would be harsh and swift. Faith cast aside that warning to the dung heap.

  The hard press of his wide shoulder against her stomach kept her breathing shallow. The only decent mark she gave him was for not making one suggestive comment. And if she were being generous, she would credit him for not attempting to do more than hold her securely.

  The pungent odor of manure told her where they were before she spotted the bottom poles of the corral and saw a wagon tongue. She heard Tolly’s greeting. Well, she amended, it started out to be a greeting, but it ended with Tolly sputtering.

  She prayed that Tolly would take Delaney to task for what he was doing. He didn’t seem to be afraid to speak his mind to Mr. Carmichael. God was not listening.

  “Tolly, shut up,” Delaney ordered. “Get me a wagon hitched. Miz Becket’s finished her business in town. It’s time for her to leave.”

  Faith squirmed against his hold, longing to be put down.

  Delaney had to resist the urge to slide her down his body. Slowly. Very slowly and held tight.

  They both took a step back from each other as he gently lowered her to stand.

  “Wait here,” he commanded, drawing a harsh breath. “I’ll light a fire under Tolly.”

  Faith merely lifted her brow and ignored him while she shook out the hem of her gown.

  “Don’t be putting on airs and pretend you ain’t glad I got you outta there.”

  Her head snapped up. She directed a level, almost feral gaze at him. “Airs, Mr. Carmichael? Is that what you think I’m putting on?”

  “Whatever you’re doing ain’t pretty, duchess. I’d chance saying you’re angry.”

  “I am many things,” she answered softly as she carefully but most deliberately curled her small hands into fists. “But angry does not quite come close to what I am.”

  Delaney gazed at her with narrowed eyes, targeting her mouth with a glance that briefly revealed frank male hunger. He watched as she nervously stepped to the side.

  “I’m not the one who’s going to hurt you, but Chelli now—”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it.” Faith looked behind him. Before she gave thought to what she was going to do, she closed the distance between them.

  Delaney merely shrugged and looked toward the gaping barn doors. “Tolly, hurry it up.”

  “Oh, Mr. Carmichael,” Faith called in a singsongy voice.

  His gaze snapped back to her.

  The impact of her small fisted hand landing solidly in his gut took his breath. His eyes widened. Shock, surprise, and one staggered step back along with Faith’s helpful shove sent him flying into the horse trough.

  She planted her fists on her hips. “I warned you that I wasn’t a helpless woman.”

  “Duchess,” he growled, swiping at the dripping water on his face.

  “Faith, Mr. Carmichael. My name is Faith Ann Becket—”

  “Thought you were married, Miz Becket?”

  “You’re cruel. Cruel and rude and arrogant and—”

  “…and you want me.”

  “Want … you…” she sputtered, unable to believe that he baldly stated that. There he sat, tucking his hands behind his head, ignoring his hat which had fallen off. She blinked several times. He seemed to be enjoying his position. His dripping boots and long legs hung over either side of the wooden trough and he dared, after that outrageous remark, to grin up at her!

  “Don’t get in a snit, duchess. Water’s right precious. Didn’t figure I needed another bath what with just having one yesterday, but it’s sure cooling.” His gaze raked the flags of color in her cheeks. “Sure is hot and get hotter.”

  “Drowning,” Faith pronounced with all the disdain she could muster, “is too good for the likes of you. Tolly, Tolly!” she shouted, turning toward the barn. “Please hurry!”

  “Keep yore skirt on, I’m comin’.”

  “Didn’t figure you for a temper, calico.”

  “Well, you figured wrong.”

  Delaney slid forward and rose to his full height slowly. “Figure that you’re a woman with grit, too.”

  “If that was a compliment, thank you. If it was not, I couldn’t care less what you think of me.”

  Delaney opened his gunbelt and set it down easy on the ground. He ran his large hands down the length of his legs, squeezing the water out. Faith had not moved. He couldn’t see her face with the bonnet’s brim shielding it, but the curving line of her breast, her slender waist, and agitated toe-tap held his gaze for a long, long minute.

  Twice he opened his mouth to speak, and twice he closed it. She was still an armful of trouble. A soft, womanly armful, but trouble just the same.

  It wasn’t his place to get involved. He had troubles of his own that needed his attentions. But damn, if she didn’t manage to make him feel guilty. Irritated him, too, like a burr rubbing a saddle sore.

  Who did she think she was hauling off and punching him?

  With a grunt of disgust Delaney squeezed what water he could from his shirt without taking it off.

  Here he went after her, protected her from a bastard like Chelli, and what thanks did he get? A soaking when he had already had a bath.

  That was a woman for you. Do your best and get nothing but grief. Well, let some other damn fool man take her where she wanted to go. He’d got by just fine minding his own business.

  Anyway, her tongue was sharp. How could he listen to it, mile after mile, having his back razored? He had made a promise to go home. So home was damn close to where they had filed their land claim. Wasn’t his worry. He’d travel fast and light.

  Faith glanced nervously at the tall shadow he cast. Edging forward, she presented her back toward him. She wished for the courage to look at his face. She had not bargained on dealing with an angry man. And every sense warned her Delaney was angry.

  Well, he deserved it! She would never, not if she lived to be sixty, admit to him that she was glad that he had followed her. There had been something cold and greedy about Chelli that frightened her. If Delaney Carmichael’s method of removing her from the saloon had been less than any lady could have wished for, she forgave him. It would stretch the limits of Christian charity, but she could do it.

  Not that he would ever know. She could still feel the imprint of his hard body pressing hers. And that mocking remark burned in her memory! “Maybe money ain’t my price, duchess.” Did he think she was a foolish woman who believed he would barter himself for her? She had never faced a man’s desire. Not even—no, it was best to leave those thoughts of Martin buried. Just as he was.

  “You know a man’s mettle gets tested right early,” he noted, willing her to turn around and look at him.

  “So does a woman’s, Mr. Carmichael,” she replied with a catch in her voice, refusing to turn around.

  “Figure that’s
a start.”

  “Start?” she repeated softly, clearing her throat.

  Now, you’d think a smart woman would understand that he was trying to apologize, he thought. And if she was smart, she would face a man so he could do it properlike. He’d told her a woman shouldn’t have to beg a man. Didn’t she know that the same held true for him? Not only did the calico duchess have a tongue that wanted curbing badly, she needed a lesson in manners, too.

  “Figure we got plenty to get straight between us. Like you remembering to call me Delaney.”

  She grabbed hold of her skirt with trembling hands, daring to hope, almost afraid that she was reading more into what he was trying to say. Fool man! How was she to know what he meant? Did he expect her to make it easy for him after what he had subjected her to?

  “Since I won’t be seeing you again, Mr. Carmichael, I can’t see what difference it makes what I call you,” she blurted out. “Seems to me that right now you’d better go light that fire under Tolly. He’s taking a long time to hitch up a wagon.”

  Delaney glanced up at the open barn doors and then back at Faith. “Most likely he’s standing right inside, listening to every word.”

  “And I suppose he’ll be telling anyone who’ll listen to him what happened?”

  “Should be good for a few free drinks. Got to admit, it makes a fine tale.” Delaney almost smiled but stopped himself. “Ain’t many men could claim they put me down so easily.” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head like a wet pup before he slicked it back. Shaking the excess water dripping from his pants and boots, he added, “I’d bet your name is gonna be whispered over every campfire from here to Tucson.”

  He wished the words unsaid. She hadn’t made a sound, but her body went from soft to rigid before his eyes. Suddenly the thought of any man whispering her name sat like a lump of uncooked flour in his gut.

  Faith’s feeling almost echoed his. But her stomach roiled with nausea. She closed her eyes, prayed for guidance, and decided to ignore his remark. She couldn’t drop a hint, couldn’t let him know anything more about her now. Maybe there would be time later, maybe never.

  “Seems to me,” she said, her light tone forced as she mimicked his drawl, “that won’t do me a bit of good. I still don’t have what I came to town for.”

  “That ain’t exactly true.” Hell and damnation! Now he’d gone and done it. He pinned his gaze on her, his body tense.

  Why was he agreeing to lead this woman and her family down hell’s own path?

  And damn her! She made him sweat, waiting for her to finally turn around. Her eyes met his, wide, bright, and glistening. He saw her lips move but heard only a faint murmur. Delaney was bewildered by the burning sensation that filled his chest. This time he had to touch his stone. There was no coolness, no soothing … just heat. And her eyes … Christ! If the sight of them didn’t cost him his breath, her smile nearly rocked him back on his heels.

  Faith Ann Becket was pretty. Pretty as the desert coming into bloom after the rain. But she was no fragile desert flower that would quickly fade and die. There was strength in her. A woman’s strength that held a warm beauty all its own. Her smile made her face as radiant as the sunset that swept its red and gold colors to paint away the harshness of a land that only a man who loved it could see.

  But Delaney had loved once. Betrayal was its cost. He had paid its demanded price.

  He had thought that she didn’t have the good sense God gave to a mule. With an ironic smile, he admitted to himself, that made them two of a kind.

  “Guess you hired me.”

  “My father—”

  “Oh, no, duchess. This is between you and me.” He saw her smile fade and ignored her bewildered gaze. “We agree?”

  Caught up in his sudden about-face, Faith looked away. She missed the intensity of his narrowed eyes and the bittersweet smile on his lips. But she nodded, afraid to question his terms.

  “Dagnabbit!” Tolly yelled, lumbering out from the barn. “Took ya two long enough. Man’s near to dyin’ awaitin’ on ya. Wagon’s all hitched ’round back.”

  Delaney snatched up his hat and gunbelt. He shot Tolly a furious look and began walking toward him.

  “Now, Del, afore ya go sayin’ a word, I’ll tell ya I figured ya’d help this little gal. Saddled yore horse an’ tied him back of the wagon. Bet Tampas left yore saddlebags near the back door of the café so’s ya won’t lose time. Stuffed ’em full of yore clean shirts an’ such.”

  “Tolly, someday you’ll go too far. Someday,” Delaney predicted, stalking closer to the old man who stood his ground, “you’re gonna figure what a man’s gonna do wrong. And when that someday comes, Tolly, I just hope to hell I’m around.”

  “Miz Becket, don’t pay him no mind. Hie yoreself out back. Set a canteen under the seat so’s ya have water. Don’t be worryin’ on where it come from. It’s clean and new. Warringer put it on Del’s bill. An’ son,” he added, looking up at a towering Delaney, “get to live as long as me afore ya get to believin’ I can’t figure the right measure of a man.”

  “You sonofabitchin’ bastard! What else did you tell Delaney? You stood there talkin’ to him long enough.”

  Powerful hands gripped the Indian’s shoulders and lifted him until his feet dangled free of the ground.

  “Talk, damn you.”

  “He knows what I was told to say.”

  “No more than that? And don’t lie to me.”

  “No more.” The Apache’s head snapped back and forth from the furious shaking. “I told him no more,” he repeated, kicking his feet uselessly.

  The release was sudden, and the Indian landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. He kept his gaze lowered until he saw that the man had moved away and then he looked up at his tormentor. His hand rose slowly to wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He remained as he was, watching as the blond bearded man, nearly twice his width and two heads taller, reached into his saddlebag and brought forth two bottles.

  He held them together in one ham-sized hand and with the other drew a true Arkansas toothpick from its sheath at his side.

  “Brodie said to give you these. But if I find out that you lied to me, I’ll come lookin’ for you with this.”

  The dying rays of the sun caught the blade’s sheen as Yancy Watts held it out from his body. He tossed the two bottles to the Apache cringing at his feet and laughed at the eager way he caught them.

  Saddle leather creaked as Yancy settled his massive frame, and with a vicious yank of the reins he jerked his horse’s head toward the south.

  “You remember what I told you. Follow him. Make sure nothing happens to him. Brodie wants Delaney alive.”

  Robert Becket was a man with a secret.

  Within minutes of meeting Faith’s father, Delaney made that judgment. While the supper that Faith had made slowly disappeared, his gut feeling that something was wrong had not.

  Instinct kept a man alive. If he had the sense to listen to it. Delaney had cause in the past to regret ignoring the warnings his own had sent out. He wouldn’t be so foolish again.

  It wasn’t the evasive way Becket answered his questions about where they had come from. By itself, there wasn’t anything unusual in that. Most men had some reason for leaving their homes and settling somewhere new. And Delaney knew the unwritten law was not to ask questions. But that was a law for men like himself. The drifters.

  Farmers like Becket shouldn’t have anything to hide.

  Then Delaney added the way the children, as Faith called them, responded to his gentle probing. He swore they had been well schooled to reveal very little.

  He sopped up the last bit of gravy with a golden-brown biscuit and decided that his duchess had been modest about her cooking. She was more than a fair hand at it. He had turned down her offer for a third helping of the jerked beef stew that had been flavored with wild onions from a nearby field that had gone to weeds. One adob
e wall still stood, a reminder that people had once tried to tame this land. Delaney found himself wondering why the Becket family had camped so far out from town. True, this site was near a trickling stream, and the few cottonwoods offered shade while the standing adobe wall afforded shelter since they had two wagons on either end with a tarp stretched across. But the area was isolated.

  With a satisfied sigh he set down his empty coffee cup along with his plate.

  “You figure we can leave in a day or so seeing as how we agree on your fee?”

  Delaney glanced across the fire at Robert Becket. The man sat with his back cushioned by a thickly folded quilt against the adobe wall, his splintered leg jutting straight out before him. He was near to fifty by Delaney’s reckoning and bore little physical resemblance to Faith or her little sister, Pris. A thinning thatch of gray hair framed his gaunt, sharp-featured face.

  “Think you’re up to traveling?” Delaney asked, gazing off to the side of the fire so as not to impair his vision. Many a man had made the mistake of staring into his campfire, blinding him if he had to move fast in the shadows. By the time his vision adjusted itself to the dark, it was often too late.

  “Can’t wait here till my leg mends. Lost enough time as it is. Need to get down there and build us a home and get started with the planting. Take a good while to walk the land and find a site close to water.”

  “If there’s water. The land’ll support cattle, but farming, now … well, I can’t say for sure how crops might do. You know you’ll have miners to contend with since Schieffelin found float two years ago.”

  “Float? What’s that?”

  Delaney turned to face Keith, the oldest of Faith’s brothers. She said he was fourteen, and Delaney figured he’d need a few years to fill out the promise of his lanky frame. It was the first question he had asked him since Delaney arrived late this afternoon. He was more than happy to hear Keith question him. It wasn’t out of kindness or a wish to share his knowledge with the boy, but he needed to know the boy’s strengths and weaknesses before they hit the trail.